


Shop Around

by astrosaur



Series: Shop Around [1]
Category: Johnny's Entertainment, Sexy Zone
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-17 01:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10583475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrosaur/pseuds/astrosaur
Summary: Fuma's manager comes up with a brilliant solution to safeguard his career against the latest rumors swirling around him: have him woo and be wooed by 12 eligible candidates on national TV.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a self-challenge to write 5 fics inspired by 5 songs in different genres. Genre 2 is Soul, song is from The Miracles. Also shamelessly borrowing one or two things from the TV show UnREAL.
> 
> Warnings: OC's - Hideko & Tsubaki (TV show producers), Ryuji (random contestant), Tomo (Fuma's manager.) And some OOC - blame them reality TV tropes.

            Fuma’s problem, by his estimation, is that he does his job too well.

            He is in the business of selling an image, and his happens to gravitate towards the “wild” side of the idol spectrum. Influenced by templates of those that came before Fuma, the public translates glimpses of his personality into everything from delinquency ( _if he actually went to rehearsals, he’d manage to do the proper steps_ ), to a secret life of criminal behavior ( _doesn’t he earn enough money from dealing drugs?_ ), to indulging in a string of depraved affairs.

            The last, he believes, is most unfair, especially when he’s only ever had serious boyfriends. And all were separated by appropriate intervals, thank you very much. But it can’t be helped that his image in his unit has many assuming that he’s leading a shady double-life.

            Years of being in the industry has desensitized him to some extent. He is, for the most part, capable of ignoring internet trolls and laughing at wildly inaccurate tabloid articles. Unfortunately, rumors around him continue to pile up at a rate that his agency races to quash. What broke the straw for them were widely publicized paparazzi photos of him at a bar, in the company of a boy identified to be 18-years-old.

            So, okay, maybe that kid did sit with Fuma and his friends. And fine, maybe that kid did have a couple of beers. But it’s not as if Fuma came with him, or invited him to sit with them, or bought him a drink. He has done actual worse things than sat around and let underage kids drink, but apparently, that’s what it takes to get Tomo, his manager, up in arms to undo every slight that has marred his reputation in the public’s eyes.

            When Tomo described the premise of a dating reality show geared towards the LGBTQ audience, saying she wanted him to appear in it as the bachelor choosing from a bevy of eligible suitors, Fuma responded by bodily removing her from his dressing room. However, she later cons him into a meeting with the TV show’s two head producers, Hideko and Tsubaki.

            At first, the three women make an effort to act like the purpose of the meeting is to get Fuma’s buy-in. But the absolute lack of cooperation coming from their would-be leading man eventually has them talking over him, and they move on to negotiating a myriad of details among the three of them. Somehow, they go from easing Fuma into the idea, abruptly into how they’ll work around his schedule. They make the whole thing sound more and more like an inevitable conclusion, which Fuma takes exception to.

            “Let’s put aside for a moment the fact that I’d sooner die than stoop down to considering this,” Fuma says, affecting generosity meant to humor them. “How is this meant to repair my reputation? Nobody needs to see me stringing along these naïve, fame-hungry guys for my pleasure.”

            “You gave him the DVD of our previous seasons, right?” Hideko asks Tomo, continuing to ignore Fuma.

            “I haven’t gathered enough sedating chemicals needed to get him to watch them,” Tomo responds, only half-joking. “He knows that the premise of the show showcases the romantic side of the bachelor, he’s just being obtuse.”

            “Again, I fail to see how it’s going to help me if I’m being ‘romantic’ to twelve different guys,” Fuma says. “And by the way, putting all these unattached guys in the same room together? Who’s to say they’re not just going to want to bang each other instead of me?”

            “They’re six to a room, Kikuchi-san,” says Tsubaki, the only one of them who’s still occasionally directly talking to Fuma. “Intimacy’s not what you’d call easy to come by.”

            “Cool, you made it easier for them to have orgies.”

            “There are enough cock-blocks planted in each room to prevent that,” Tsubaki addresses Fuma’s throwaway joke in earnest. “I’m sure you’ll work it out, but each one is picked for a different reason. But we’ve got at least two boys who would be perfect for you.” Her impressively poised stature cracks as she side-eyes her co-producer. “That is, if Hideko did her job right.”

            Hideko is about to chime in with a protest, but Fuma cuts her off. “Two,” he repeats. “Out of twelve.”

            “They’re all appealing in their own way. But not all of them are meant for the long-term, if you catch my drift.”

            “Frankly, I’m more interested in having enough jerks who can make him look like a relatively decent human being by comparison,” Tomo says.

            “Then come on the show with me,” Fuma suggests. Tomo pinches his arm and makes him yelp.

            “We’ve got a few those, too. Not to worry, we’ve thought of everything,” Hideko assures them, and at the same time extinguishes the remnants of Fuma’s spirit.

 

\- X -

 

            Alas, no amount of bitching or dragging his feet could keep Fuma from finding himself waiting to face his onscreen suitors. “Try not to look like you’ve got a gun pointed to your head when you greet your dashing princes,” Tomo suggests. “Unless you want me to resort to even more desperate measures than this, just to keep your career afloat.”

            “Whatever happens, you get fired, so it’s a win-win for me.”

            Tomo clucks her tongue, though Fuma’s said worse things to her face. “I don’t enjoy humiliating you—”

            “Prove it.”

            “—and I don’t appreciate having to twist your arm to do what you need to do to survive.”

            “Cue the 100th re-telling of Erika-san’s PR disaster and how it subsequently derailed her career.”

            Tomo crosses her arms, unimpressed by Fuma predicting exactly what she was seconds from reminding him about. “I don’t like being in this position any more than you like being in yours.”

            “Again, I have yet to see proof of that,” Fuma scoffs.

            A crewmember eventually steps in to extricate Tomo from their bickering, ushering her away to the nearby control room where she can keep an eye on Fuma from a safe distance. Fuma is both relieved and anxious as soon as she leaves him to fend for himself. He welcomes the respite from the criticism she dishes, those attacks on both his professional and personal standing. But any ease that comes with it is displaced by dread over his impending doom. The idea of twelve assuredly attractive men vying for one’s attention would not have merited the same sense of horror in other men of the same orientation, but Fuma has a checkered history when it comes to doing what he’s expected to do.

            Fuma is joined by the show’s host, a well-spoken man named Sakurai. When Sakurai switches from his conversational voice to his TV voice, Fuma forces himself to listen to the older man’s bright narration. He tries not to dwell on fantasies of abandoning his public life, his band, and his livelihood once and for all.

            He busies himself trying to keep a neutral face (not grimacing is difficult enough, so a smile would have been beyond the bounds of earthly possibility) as Sakurai prattles on about the show’s ludicrous gimmicks. His biggest challenge is keeping his eyes from rolling as Sakurai describes the elimination ritual of tying a red string around the wrist of each contestant to indicate that they survive another day on set. Not only is it beating you over the head with the mythological reference, which Fuma already hates on principle, but the very idea that anyone would meet their “fated person” through the machinations of a shoddy reality show is laughable.

            Sakurai turns to Fuma, shining with enough professional enthusiasm to spare between the two of them, and asks him the dreaded question. “There are twelve men in that room who are awfully excited to meet you. Are you ready to meet them, Fuma-kun?”

            Fuma wills his lips into a shape resembling affirmation. “Lead the way.”

            Stepping into a room full of good-looking people doesn’t take Fuma off-guard. In his line of work, he encounters plenty of attractive people on a regular basis. What does catch his attention is the way a few of them lock eyes on him with determination. Fuma is genuinely disturbed by this, only half-listening as Sho invites them one-by-one to approach and introduce themselves.

            Fuma nods politely with each earnest handshake. Even the ones that shy away from eye contact, movements betraying their nervousness, don’t put him at ease. Not to mention, a couple of them look far too young to be on the show, much less to offset his recent scandal of letting an underage idiot drink in his vicinity.

            From the collection of non-distinct noises and pretty smiles, a sharp figure cuts into Fuma’s vision. He’s a looker, no doubt – just like anybody in the room with them – but something about him makes Fuma’s chin inch up and truly regard him. An unnamable feeling tugs at him, making his mind blank out as the man in front of him introduces himself. “I’m Matsumura Hokuto,” he says with an easy smile. “Pleased to meet you.”

            The answering grin on Fuma’s face is soft, but more real that it has been in weeks. “Nice to meet you, too.”

            Sakurai has already prodded the next contestant forward, but Fuma’s eyes are stubbornly drawn to Hokuto with his quiet confidence, and how that just so happened to go with a face that dabbled between beautiful and masculine. He barely made a note of Nakayama Yuma’s uniquely beguiling eyes, Nakajima Kento’s never-ending legs, or Kyomoto Taiga’s flawless skin. Those might have encouraged him to introduce himself to any one of those guys if he’d spotted them at a bar somewhere, but his higher mental functions are arrested by Hokuto’s allure.

            Later, Sakurai leads them to the gardens, and they go off into groups. They’re encouraged to lounge by the poolside, take a flute of champagne from one of the cocktail tables, or hang by the foosball table on the patio. Although Fuma’s convinced that nothing’s going to come out of this experience, he doesn’t hesitate to investigate the one thing that managed to pique his interest. He oh-so-casually makes a beeline towards Hokuto and two other contestants who congregated around the large speakers.

            Tanaka Juri is stroking the amp that stands as tall as he does, looking at it worshipfully, but Hokuto and Taiga properly notice Fuma as he sidles up to them. “I see you guys found the one thing in this room worth battling it out for,” he jokes.

            “You should let us take home the sound system as a consolation prize,” Juri says.

            “You’ve given up first place already?” Hokuto laughs.

            Fuma chuckles as well. “By the looks of it, you’d definitely aim for second place if that were the rule.”

            Taiga puts his hands up in the direction of one of the cameras, blocking them in jest. “Guys, maybe we should give Juri-kun and his new girl some privacy.”

            “Beautiful things are meant to be admired,” Juri declares, but finally turns his full attention to Fuma. “I bet you’re used to these things, aren’t you? Are you the type of guy that decks his place with three-story speakers? Or maybe you could turn your car into one big mobile entertainment system.”

            Fuma can’t tell if Juri is back on script – if he’s set his mind towards his appointed mission of winning a dating show – but the latter’s laidback attitude is promising. “Not really. I’d pay for quality speakers, but I don’t need to turn my home into a mini-concert venue.” He turns to Hokuto and Taiga. “How about you two?”

            “I mean, I like music,” Taiga drawls, his lips curling up on one side. “But to be frank, I prefer other ways to liven up my place.”

            Fuma screams internally at Taiga’s poor attempt to be coy, but thankfully, Hokuto cuts in like a timely neutralizer for his nerves. “I think it would be cool. This size is overdoing it, like I’d be overcompensating for something, but something smaller would be nice. You could bring in popcorn and watch movies, or bring in some drinks and dance.”

            “You’d dance? Who would you dance with?” It’s getting harder for Fuma to keep his tone light, not wanting to broadcast his intent and scare Hokuto away – or worse, give him the idea that he’s disproportionately interested.

            Hokuto gives another smile that’s hard to read – knee-buckling with its attractiveness, but impeccably shrouded. “With friends.”

            “Do you dance with friends a lot?” Fuma moves a centimeter closer to Hokuto, angling himself in a subtle but unmistakable way.

            “That’s when it’s most fun, sometimes,” Hokuto replies, taking his own miniscule step towards Fuma.

            One cameraman closes in on them, boxing Taiga and Juri out. The other pair takes their cue and makes the best of the situation. Fuma hears Juri inviting Taiga to dance, and they join for a rather individualistic showing, with one going in silly and the other slightly more sensual. Fuma makes note of it just so he could gloat to his manager later about contestants hooking up with each other rather than himself, but files it away so he can focus on dancing around Hokuto… literally and figuratively.

            “Do your friends have fun dancing with you?”

            Hokuto lightly places a hand on Fuma’s hip, and the latter welcomes the contact. “They’re fun people, of course they have fun dancing with me.”

            “As long as everyone’s having fun.” Fuma grins. “Maybe I’ll do that too, from now on. Screen my friends on how fun they’d be to dance with.”

            It succeeds in making Hokuto laugh. “I don’t do that! I would never choose my friends by holding a talent show. I’m friends with even those who don’t know how to dance.”

            “Those are the people you’d watch the movie with, in your room with the smaller speakers.”

            “Exactly.”

            “I like movies,” Fuma comments.

            “Good, because your dancing…”

            “…is too much for you to handle. Don’t worry, you’re not alone.”

            The two of them continue their mildly coded conversation, steadily getting closer in the process. Soon, they have both their hands on each other’s hips, and Fuma’s index fingers hook into Hokuto’s belt loops. Their eyes never stray from each other, which is why Sakurai’s sudden appearance by their side makes both of them jump.

            “Excuse me, but Fuma-kun, have you seen the foosball table?” Sakurai glances quickly at Hideko, who’s gesturing towards the patio, making it obvious that he’s interrupting them at her behest.

            Fuma understands that she’s trying to inject a bit more volatility and excitement to her show, and the professional in him does at least want to pull in the audience and earn them respectable ratings. As much as he wanted to stay with Hokuto, he goes along with Sakurai’s pointed suggestion, and it takes him to Yuma and Kento, who are in the middle of a friendly competition.

            “Hey, think I could play the winner in the next round?” he asks them.

            “Then I must win and guarantee my place next to Fuma,” Kento says with all the flourish of a stage actor, and oh god, Fuma thinks, this is even worse than Taiga’s thinly veiled suggestiveness.

            “Yeah, you can play the next round,” Yuma agrees, much more like a normal person.

            “Yuma, I’m sorry, I won’t hold back,” Kento says, immersing himself in their game once more. “If it’s for the chance to be by Fuma’s side, I won’t let anything stop me.”

            Fuma looks around like he’s searching for confirmation that someone else is hearing the same shit he’s hearing. Yuma does little more than crack a smile at Kento’s antics.

            Ultimately, Kento’s words prove themselves as true as he emerges the winner and Fuma’s rightful foosball opponent. Fuma takes Yuma’s place, all the while making a concerted effort to ignore the creepily studious stare Kento has fastened on him.

            “You look strong, so I’m not going to take it easy on you.”

            Fuma ignores that, too. “Ready?”

            “Yes, but my heart’s never going to stop beating this fast as long as you’re this close to me.”

            Fuma loses control momentarily and his wrist spazzes, but he grits his teeth and shakes off the discomfort caused by Kento’s weird, over-the-top flirting.

            “Hah!” Kento somehow manages to take advantage of Fuma’s lapse in concentration all while spouting his terrible lines. “If I win, I want a chance to explore our special connection.”

            “Okay, does that work?” Fuma snaps, pissed off when Kento scores on him again. “If it does, _who_ does it work on?”

            Kento doesn’t seem surprised by the outburst, but he is quick to defend himself. “What’s wrong with saying nice things to people? It doesn’t hurt to make others feel good about themselves. And it’s ‘whom,’ by the way.”

            It’s not that Fuma disagrees with him so vehemently, but he feels the need to speak out more so than ever. And since Yuma’s left them alone – he’s now off-camera talking in hushed whispers with Hideko – Fuma feels a little freer with his words. “There are more efficient ways to make people feel good about themselves. Maybe if you dropped your shoujo manga material and just ask someone to suck you off, then you’d be doing that instead of being here.” Fuma spots his manager from the corner of his eye, running towards the scene, having surfaced from the viewing area.

            “That’s not what I want,” Kento argues.

            Fuma decides he doesn’t care that his manager is probably coming to twist him by the ear for misbehaving. He has priorities to consider, like knocking this wannabe Disney prince down a peg or two. “You do look like you’d rather be the one on your knees. I can respect that.”

            Kento gasps dramatically, but this time Fuma at least finds him spontaneous and sincere, for the first time. “You know what I mean! That’s not as important,” he says. “There are guys out there who aren’t looking for anything beyond that, but I’m not one of them. I want the epic romance. I want someone I can properly treasure and love.”

            “Eh, plenty of guys would feel plenty treasured if you offered to suck their—”

            “Kikuchi, I swear to God,” Tomo calls at the same time Kento protests so rapidly that his words are barely comprehensible. “Cut that part out,” Tomo hisses to the cameraman. “Get that last five minutes of footage incinerated. Where’s Hideko?”

            Fuma truly hadn’t meant to go off the rails so early in their filming, but this Kento guy is too much. His words come off over-rehearsed, and are just plain embarrassing to listen to. Plus, that enormous grin that’s way too big for his face is irritatingly over-confident, the way most guys who look like him tend to be. And, last but not least, Fuma hates that Kento ekes out a victory in their heated foosball game.

            “Tie-breaker,” Fuma demands, already fishing the ball from the foosball table.

            “Fuma, Kento,” Yuma interjects, apparently having returned. “Do you have space for a—”

            “Hang on, it’ll take me just another minute to smash this guy to the – hey! No cheating!”

            “How was that cheating? You had both hands on the levers!” Kento counters, dropping his pick-up lines to focus on their game.

            The rest of the night goes on with relatively less fanfare, save for one or two moments. One such moment was Takatori Ryuji obnoxiously shooing Matsushima Sou away, essentially calling out his height deficit, so to speak. (Ryuji’s words were, “I’m sure at your size, you’re used to being overlooked.”) Fortunately, Sou peacefully left the scene and nothing escalated.

            By the end of the night, nobody held Fuma’s attention as strongly as Hokuto and Kento did – for two entirely different reasons.

 

\- X -

 

            Naturally, it’s only Fuma’s interaction with Kento that Tomo remembers, and she wastes no time yelling his ear off for it.

            “If any of the crew manages to smuggle footage of you sexually harassing Mr. Rainbows-and-Unicorns back there, you might as well get a head start on writing your resignation letter now,” she says.

            “I did not sexually harass him,” Fuma protests, grievously offended by the accusation on multiple fronts. “If anything, he left me feeling violated. Did you hear the shit he said?”

            “Please, if you watched the previous seasons like I asked, you’d know that every other contestant they’ve had in this show has said something desperate like ‘I just met you but I think we have a super-special connection,’” Tomo points out. “And I’m not sure if you can tell, but there’s stupidly cheesy, and then there’s telling someone to get on his knees for you.”

            “Ugh, that is not remotely close to what I said.”

            “Between subtext and editing, how much do you think that matters?”

            Fuma has nothing to reply to that, knowing she’s not going to take back her unfounded interpretation of his conflict with Kento. He also can’t refute her point about the power of video editing. In the end, he’s left with a whole lot of frustration with little to no means of expelling it in the time between the break and when he’s supposed to make the first cut from the twelve contestants.

            At this point, he knows the wisest move is to pick someone at random who wouldn’t do anything for the ratings, preferably one of the ones who’ll likely get ID’d at a bar for next twenty years. While all twelve contestants are each good-looking in their own way, it’s also immediately obvious to Fuma what the producers meant when they said not all of them were casted to stick around for the long run. (He’s not sure where Kento falls in that category, though Fuma is tempted to disregard that consideration altogether and send him packing regardless what the producers had in mind for him.)  

            As he plays back what he’s put up with during the last few days, the more he leans towards not reading off of his manager’s and the producers’ playbook. A minor act of rebellion is all that he has in his control. With this in mind, he hatches a plot to prematurely eliminate one of the guys that the producers intended for him to keep until the finale.

            This also means not getting rid of Kento right away, but he can save that satisfying moment for later.

            For now, he ruminates on which elimination would piss off the producers the most. He has more than a strong feeling that these two guys he’s meant to keep are Hokuto and Yuma. He has no physical evidence that Hokuto’s once of them, but he’s certain of it nonetheless. And Yuma has to be the other one, given that little pep talk Hideko gave him in the middle of filming. Of the two suspected producer darlings, there’s no question as to which one of them Fuma preferred to keep.

            When the cameras start rolling again, Fuma looks across the faces awaiting his decision. A few of them looked confident – none more so than Hideko and Tsubaki.

            One by one, he calls up the “safe” contestants. Matsumura Hokuto. Tanaka Juri. Kyomoto Taiga. Jesse Lewis. Matsushima Sou. Kouchi Yugo. Takatori Ryuji. Sato Shori. Morimoto Shintaro. Marius Yo.

            Kento and Yuma are left as the two remaining people waiting to hear of their fate. Fuma glances between Kento and Yuma, both showing far more stoic faces than when he’d met them. While he can make peace with the idea of making Kento suffer, he’s probably going to develop a pang of guilt for effectively punishing Yuma for doing nothing wrong. Before he can second-guess himself, he calls Kento forward – emphatically using his last name instead of his first – and waits for him to get into position.

            Kento looks confused and wary as he walks up to Fuma. When he’s up close, Fuma finds it hard to look him in the eye, so he just focuses on the ribbon he’s tying ritualistically around Kento’s wrist, indicating his escape from elimination for the week.

            After Kento joins the rest of the surviving contestants, Sakurai guides a considerably more wooden Yuma towards Fuma, and this time Fuma forces himself to face the man in front of him. “I’m sorry,” is all Fuma can offer, and it sounds weak to his own ears. Apologizing has never been his strong suit.

            Still, Yuma grants him a smile for his efforts, and even reaches out to squeeze his hand. When Fuma steps back, he catches the look on Hideko’s face, and it’s far less forgiving than Yuma’s had been. He imagines Tomo is going to be just about as charitable.

            This is going off to a great start.


	2. Chapter 2

            The show’s next major activity is a one-on-one date, and to Fuma’s relief, not another party in which they all have to vie for his attention. While the intimacy of a two-person set-up is intimidating, it’s marginally more bearable than being the sole object of contrived affection.

            Fuma is asked to choose his first ever televised date. He isn’t asked to choose a specific person, but an idea for a date. The contestants are made to read each other’s ideal outings to withhold the source’s identity, forcing Fuma to pick an activity rather than a person.

            He listens with sufficient attention as the boys narrate dream dates, sometimes in direct contrast to their personalities. It makes it that much clearer that they’re reading someone else’s idea of a good time, like when Juri enthuses profusely about all kinds of bath salts in existence and mispronounces half of them.

            But things take a slightly darker turn when it’s Ryuji’s turn to read a date option. There’s already a smirk in place before he even takes the piece of paper to read off from. He glances at it, skimming its contents, before chortling disdainfully. “Is it fine to read this?” he asks Sakurai. “It’s not at all anonymous.”

            Sakurai pauses for no longer than a second before gesturing for him to proceed. “Go ahead, Ryuji-kun. It’s unavoidable that we have theories on whose idea it is.”

            “No, this one’s got the guy’s name all over it,” Ryuji says, still chuckling with unmasked derision. “But whatever, here goes.” He clears his throat and changes his voice to make it a bit more nasal, in an obvious attempt to annoy the listener. “’I want our first date to be a picnic in a beautiful, secluded park.’ Heart mark. ‘If it’s just the two of us, we can really focus on each other and nothing else. I would like to feed Fuma-kun fruits by hand, until his stomach is as full as my heart.’ Kento, are you for real?”

            Kento jumps at being called out by name, a visible blush rushing up his cheeks.

            “’Afterwards, we can watch the sunset together while tightly holding hands. That way, though the day is about to end, I’ll know the next day is something to look forward to.’ Dude, what childhood abuse did you suffer to turn out so delusional?” Ryuji looks directly at Kento, whose eyes drift to the far corner of the room.

            Fuma swallows as inconspicuously as he can, and turns to Sakurai expectantly. Sakurai jumps in and readily plays referee. “Thank you, Ryuji-kun. Again, we have no way of knowing at this point who wrote these, but a picnic’s always a great idea, isn’t it, Fuma-kun?”

            Fuma racks his brain for an appropriate response and lands on, “They can be nice.” It’s the closest he’ll get to giving Kento a compliment, and it’s adequate enough to invalidate Ryuji’s unnecessary cruelty. Yes, Fuma cringed just as much as anybody in the room as Ryuji read those sickeningly sappy words, but he can’t get behind hurting and humiliating someone like that, no matter who that person is.

            He tries to push the whole thing to the back of his mind, to listen to the next option on the table. In doing so, he avoids looking at Kento. The short glimpse he does catch of the other man is gloomy, a warning not to look in his direction unless Fuma wants to deal with misplaced guilt for the rest of the day.

            The mood picks up when final date proposal is read by Taiga. It’s an innocent bid for a theme park visit, but perhaps the fact that it’s coming from Taiga’s mouth causes a few to catcall when he gets to the part about it being fun “to scream when we hit the peak.”

            Sou outs himself by flailing his arms frantically, “No, no, I meant the peak of the rollercoaster!” Next to him, Shori sighs and shakes his head as the others have a good-natured laugh at his naivete.

            “Whoever wrote it probably meant that, right?” Kouchi offers, a sweet but nonetheless fruitless attempt to bail him out.

            Not even Sakurai entertains it, moving them along the agenda. “So, there you have it, eleven possible ways to spend your day with one of these hopeful gentlemen. Have you made your decision?”

            “I’m thinking about the one that Shori read, and the beach trip one,” Fuma says.

            “The one that Shori-kun read about the concert and the food stalls, and the one that Shintaro-kun read about the beach trip,” Sakurai rehashes, professional Exposition Fairy that he is.

            “Yeah. The beach is always nice, that’s a reliable one,” Fuma explains. “And barbecue is one of my favorite things, too. On the other hand, music is such an important thing to me, and I haven’t seen a live concert that I wasn’t a part of in so long.”

            “Ahhhh, of course, it’s completely different to be able to just sit back and enjoy it.”

            “Definitely. After that, hopping from one food stall to the next is more active, but not stressful. And naturally, you’d be famished after a concert,” Fuma continues. “I’ll have to go with the one Shori read.”

            “Oh, that’s so decisive!” Sakurai praises him. “But before that, the beach date was…?”

            Juri raises his hand.

            “That’s Juri-kun’s idea. It’s regrettable, but you came very close,” Sakurai says as Juri shakes his head slightly and bows, telling them not to worry about him. “For today, let’s have the person who wants to go to a concert with Fuma-kun and visit food stalls afterwards, please step forward.”

            Fuma can’t contain the smile worming its way into his face when Hokuto reveals himself.

            “Congratulations, Hokuto-kun, you’re about to take Fuma-kun on your dream date!”

 

\- X -

 

            Without meaning to, Fuma ends up having fun on his date with Hokuto. He really doesn’t set out to do so, company aside, but he’s ill-pressed to stay disinterested when he’s got heavy bass thrumming in his chest and a cold beer in his hand. The fact that there’s a gorgeous guy leaning into him is almost enough for Fuma to disregard the video cameras, lights, and microphone booms bombarding them.

            They talk minimally when the band plays, savoring the music to the fullest. They compensate with consistent physical contact throughout each set. Under the dim lighting, surrounded by throngs of people either swaying or headbanging, an impression of safety is created, allowing Fuma to bring Hokuto closer to him. For nearly the entire duration of the concert, they’re pressed up against one another, Fuma’s arm hanging loosely across Hokuto’s torso, a diagonal line joining them together from shoulder to waist.

            They chat more during intermissions, exchanges almost shy, but unquestionably flirtatious. At one point, Fuma flees to the bathroom to make sure he still has all his senses in check. He splashes water on his face to cool himself down.

            He knows he has to stick to his resolve of not letting the show get into his head too much, and that means he can’t lose himself in the budding infatuation he’s developing for Hokuto.

            Of course, it’s okay to let loose a little bit. He can have fun, so long as he heeds any signs that fraternization is veering into risky territory. Until those red flags appear, he can be secure in the knowledge that all is going according to plan.

            He is able to relax after he mentally rehashes his game plan, enjoying himself while carefully minding the topics they touch on, keeping them at surface-level. Under his watch and orchestration, the subject matter goes no deeper than impassioned movie reviews or entertaining anecdotes about their respective friends.

            Even as he stringently keeps to his self-imposed guidelines, he’s fully in the moment when he and Hokuto set out to follow a trail smattered with more food vendors than they can count. They agree to follow whichever delicious smell wafts their way, or approach any drool-worthy display that catches their eye. The spontaneity of it exhilarates Fuma, and it’s made even better when he sees that it has the same effect on Hokuto.

            “Ah, I’m full,” Fuma says only after stall number 6.

            “We shouldn’t have gotten the yakisoba,” Hokuto laments.

            Fuma recalls the plate of noodles that had been a far larger serving than he’d anticipated. He didn’t have to finish the entire thing, but he seemed unable to stop at that time, too engrossed in talking about the concert they’d just seen. “It was worth it.”

            “It was, but that taiyaki looks so good.”

            “Taiyaki? Where?” Fuma follows Hokuto’s line of vision, and despite the state of his stomach, feels himself salivating. “Let’s get taiyaki.”

            Hokuto laughs and tags along as Fuma marches forward with enviable resoluteness. “I thought you were full. Are you sure you want to show much of a glutton you are to your fans?” Hokuto teases him.

            “Nah, I’d like them to follow my lead and appreciate the good things in life. Excuse me, two taiyaki please.”

            “Two?” Hokuto’s hand darts out to grasp Fuma’s forearm. “Are you sure?”

            Fuma turns to him with his best devil-may-care grin. “Giving up? Am I gonna have to do this by myself?”

            “We can split one,” Hokuto points out, contradicting the amusement in his eyes. “Will you be able to finish a whole one by yourself?”

            Fuma turns to the camera and points at it with a flourish, prone to silliness when he’s genuinely happy. “Let’s show everyone that we can surpass our limits.” Fuma takes the taiyaki, handing one to Hokuto before proudly showing his off to the camera, in true idol fashion.

            “Are you two going out?” the elderly vendor asks when she passes Fuma their change.

            “Do you think we should?” Fuma asks, throwing an arm around Hokuto as his other hand stuffs his face with their newly acquired treats.

            “You make a cute couple,” she tells them. Hokuto ducks his head in pleased embarrassment as Fuma jostles him.

            “Aw, did you hear that?” Fuma gloats, which is far easier to do than, say, take her comment seriously. “It’s a good thing I’m here to make us look so good.”

            Hokuto immediately raises his head at that, bumping Fuma’s hip. “I see how it is. Listen to you taking credit for someone else’s work!”

            They somehow make it all the way to a stall number ten, maintaining an easygoing banter as they steadily fill their bellies. Their breaking point comes when they’ve eaten so much that it aches just to stand. Reluctantly, they call it a night before they make themselves sick with too much food.

            “I don’t know why I thought that was a good idea. I’m going to have to pay for this the next time I hit the gym,” Hokuto says when they pull up to the residence they’re all temporarily staying at.

            “It was an excellent idea,” Fuma refutes. “The concert, too. The whole night was a lot of fun. Thanks for sharing all of that with me.”

            “Thanks for letting me,” Hokuto returns. “I had a lot of fun, too.”

            An inevitable quiet blankets them as they meet each other’s eyes wonderingly. It lasts for ten seconds or so, until Fuma takes the initiative to graze Hokuto’s cheek with his lips. It’s a far cry more chaste than what they’d done in the concert, but it accelerates Fuma’s heartrate all the same. He berates his body for its overblown reaction, swiftly moving away from Hokuto and saying they can head back into the house.

 

\- X -

 

            When Fuma enters the house, he’s pleasantly surprised that he isn’t getting confronted by the producers, who must have wanted a more climactic conclusion to his date. But rather than the two women who have replaced his manager as the bane of his life, he comes face-to-face with one Marius Yo standing between him and the privacy of his single bedroom.

            “Do you need something?” Fuma questions with as much politeness as he can muster. As far as he can recall, this man-shaped child is several years younger than him.

            “I have to tell you something,” Marius says, his stern tone at odds with how soft the rest of him is. “Well, you’ll see it on TV because the cameras were around for the entire thing, but you need to know now.”

            Fuma wonders if Marius is being put up to this, or if he’s following through on a dare, but he just waits for what he has to say without comment.

            “Ryuji-kun is no good!” he declares.

            “Yeah, I’ve met him,” Fuma says, mostly indifferent to how condescending he must sound.

            “But you didn’t see him keep going when you and Hokuto-kun left for your concert! He kept saying Kento-kun was weird, that he doesn’t belong here…” Marius frowns impressively. “Kento-kun took a one-hour bath just to get away from him. Or maybe it was even longer than that.”

            “You mean Ryuji wasn’t done after his performance today?”

            The sudden heat in Fuma’s voice surprises Marius, but it only emboldens him as he confirms, “He kept on attacking Kento-kun.”

            It’s a knee-jerk reaction for Fuma. Precluding his own misgivings about Kento, the thought of such callousness doesn’t sit well with him, especially if he played any role in it, indirectly or otherwise. “What’s the matter with that guy? Does he have a problem with Nakajima?”

            Marius shakes his head. “It’s not just Kento-kun that he’s awful to. We have to live in the same room as him, and he’s terrible to all of us. Like, after he saw me taking care of my skin at night, he asked everybody why they let a girl be a contestant if you weren’t bi. He asked everybody that, even the staff members! In front of everyone!”

            “Alright, I get it.”

            “And on the first day – _the very first day_ – he said Sou-chan wasn’t just too young, but he hadn’t even evolved far enough from chimps! That’s so mean!”

            Fuma realizes Marius is now on a tattling spree that had no natural expiration in the horizon, so he raises his hand to cut him off. “Thanks for telling me. I’ll keep it in mind.” With that, he heads into his room, robbing Marius of the chance to continue airing out his grievances about their ill-mannered housemate.

            True to his word, when he’s finally alone, he does exactly as he promised Marius. He weighs his options for the upcoming elimination, in the light of the new information brought to him.

            For the second time in a row, Fuma contemplates cutting Kento loose. At least then, that guy wouldn’t have to put up with any more shit from their resident bully. As much as he might deserve a bit of ridicule – because his shtick really is dumb, and it’s already wearing thin – it doesn’t need to come from such an indelicate guy like Ryuji. On the other hand, eliminating Kento can’t possibly look good. It won’t look like anything but Fuma kicking a guy when he’s down.

            Truth be told, the whole deal is making Fuma’s protective instincts spike. He knows himself well enough that it’s specific to Kento’s case – just not Kento himself. It has nothing to do with his personal feelings about the man, or even the fact that he also feels bad for Sou and Marius and whoever else Ryuji has slighted in his destructive path.

            Kento’s out-of-place confidence – or whatever it is that allows him to own up to his eccentricities in the face of scorn – strikes something in Fuma. Maybe Fuma’s brainwashed himself with the number of times he’s had to push his younger siblings to overcome their insecurities. Maybe he’s projecting his own contradictions on Kento, of how he tends to use a strong front to compensate for episodes of debilitating self-doubt. Maybe he’ll never completely figure it out.

            But no matter the reason, it pushes him to make a decision about who to get rid of next. He’ll just have to wait, yet again, for better timing to boot Kento’s obnoxious, foosball-winning ass.

 

\- X -

 

            After Ryuji is expelled from the house, the producers take Fuma aside for a talking-to.

            Hideko and Tsubaki gather him and Tomo into one of the dark rooms, where no one can overhear them. Hideko claims she wants level with him. “It’s in your best interests not to pluck out the key role-players one after the other this early in the game, if there’s any part of you that wants to succeed.”

            “I don’t even know who your key role-players are,” Fuma argues. In fairness, it’s only partly untrue.

            “You just happened to axe Yuma-kun out of the blue?” Hideko challenges.

            “Oh, stop,” Tsubaki says, pulling at Hideko’s arm to make her sit back down next to her. “She’s bitter that her team is losing.”

            “Her team?” Fuma repeats questioningly.

            “The boys she’s producing,” Tsubaki clarifies, right before waving her hand dismissively. “That doesn’t matter. The point is, Kikuchi-san, as we talked about in our meetings, all of these guys were brought on for individual reasons. Yuma-kun was what we refer to in the industry as the ‘endgame-type’ – him and one other contestant, and I won’t insult your intelligence by saying who it is. As for Ryuji-kun…”

            “Every successful show needs a character like him,” Hideko finishes for Tsubaki. “Otherwise, we risk losing our audience to more _eventful_ shows. The longer stronger personalities like him stay, the higher the likelihood that we keep people tuning in. In the end, that’s what you want, isn’t it?”

            “Sure, but not as much as I wanted Ryuji gone,” Fuma says. “I’m bringing in a viewership base with me, so are your numbers that big of a concern? Why don’t you just write a scripted show if you’re going to be this insistent about things?”

            Tomo rubs the bridge of her nose, a headache starting to form in her temples. It’s a familiar sight for Fuma. “Take it down a notch, please.”

            “Kikuchi-san, to be honest with you, we don’t normally intervene like this. It’s not my job, nor is it Tsubaki’s,” Hideko says. Fuma thinks it’s a bare-faced lie. “But a celebrity like you, as you mentioned, you could really pull in the numbers and boost your career. That’s what we promised you and Tomo-san, and we will do everything it takes for you to achieve this. The thing is, there are celebrities on TV every hour of the day. We need to be on point to stand out, and we must work together to achieve that.”

            “I am working with you, but working with you doesn’t mean being your lapdog,” Fuma counters.

            “Oh, god help me,” Tomo mutters to herself.

            “You’re absolutely right,” Hideko says. “We want you to be true to yourself – that’s what differentiates our show from those scripted dramas. At the same time, we do have to put you in certain situations so people can see the real you.”

            Fuma’s face contorts in confusion, all while retaining his antagonism. “What does that even mean, ‘put me in certain situations?’”

            “We want to make the most of the talk you had with Marius-kun the other day,” Hideko explains. “We can build off that, make a story out of it.”

            “I still don’t hear anything making any sort of sense.”

            “Your next date is the spa date with Marius-kun.”

            Fuma sighs deeply, already dreading the thought of it. “Fine,” he bites out.

            “That wasn’t so hard,” Tsubaki comments. She and Hideko exchange glances before they start making their way to the door. “We really want to help you make this work, Kikuchi-san. Let’s do our best.”

            “Uh-huh,” Fuma says, as the pair leaves him alone with his manager.

            Tomo lets out a longsuffering sigh in the face of his glowering, but she does her best to calm the beast. “You’ve got three months of this, at most. Once this is all over, you and the guys have an album recording coming up, and we can all put this behind us. I’m begging you, can you work with us here?”

            “What do you think I’m trying to do? Okay, maybe I was trolling them a bit with that first elimination, but taking Ryuji out just made this entire ordeal better for everyone who’s actually involved,” Fuma says. “If I kept him, the fans would just think I’m a sadistic shit with no taste. Objectively speaking, it was the right move to make.”

            Tomo is too exhausted to argue. “No more troll votes, that’s all I’m asking.”

            “I just had to do it once. I’m done,” Fuma claims. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to do everything the producers want, either. Lecturing me about kicking Ryuji off had fuck-all to do with my image or my career, and you know it. They’re clearly not thinking about anything but their ratings.”

            “What I know is that they’re doing their job, and for the most part, that aligns with what you need from this whole experience, too,” Tomo says. She tries the gentler route. “I want to trust you, and I want to believe you when you say you’ve gotten it out of your system. I really do.”

            “Good,” Fuma says sullenly.

            “I don’t want to treat you like a child. I sure as hell do not want to be on site for this, every day, for the next three months. This may be hard for you to hear, but I’d rather not spend 99% of my time with you, and just the other 1% with the rest of your group.”

            Fuma nods at that. “Yeah, I like myself but I wouldn’t blame you for that.”

            Tomo puts on a weak smile. “But please, for the love of god, give me a reason to trust you.”

 

\- X -

 

            Fuma’s not as enamored of massages as Marius is. Whether or not there’s anyone on Earth at his level remains to be seen. And yet, Fuma can’t deny that he was long due for a bit of pampering.

            To add to that, Marius proves to be decent company, even if Fuma could count the number of things they have in common on two hands. Marius is inoffensively chatty, and more than happy shut up and listen when it’s Fuma’s turn to talk. It doesn’t hurt that he’s extremely easy to tease, reminding Fuma of one big amalgamation of his brother and sister who also happens to speak German and English. And Japanese, arguably.

            Fuma spends most of their date poking fun at Marius’s choppy use of his native language, and each time he is given a plaintive whine of “why are you being so mean?” for his troubles. Fuma keeps at it, seeing as Marius never really appears to be in much danger of losing his temper. It’s also that much harder to take Marius seriously when he’s wrapped entirely in fluffy light pink material – from the towel-turban in his hair to the fuzzy spa slippers – further accentuating the childish pout on his face.

            Things are lighthearted and playful between them, until Marius offers up an unsolicited observation. “It’s like you need to cover up how kind you really are, deep down.”

            “Very deep down, right?” Fuma says, clinging to levity as tightly as he can. “My kindness is as well-hidden as your grasp of grammar.”

            “You use such sharp words, but what you do is so much softer,” Marius says.

            “You’re incredible. Do you enjoy getting grief over your command of the language?” Fuma asks. “You’re not leaving me much choice here.”

            “That’s enough already,” Marius says. All he’s missing is incessant foot-stomping and he’d be the very image of Fuma’s brother back when he was six. “You can say what you want, but I know why you did what you did.”

            Fuma blinks, staring at him blankly.

            “About Ryuji-kun! You eliminated him because of how he was bullying Kento-kun and everyone else,” Marius says with that burst of boldness that he seems to get now and then. “You did that for us.”

            It’s not wrong, but Fuma believes it to be underwhelming as a shining example of his character. “If that’s your definition of kindness…”

            “It is. You can tell everyone that you were being selfish, but the truth is, you wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t brought that up.” Marius sounds far surer of himself than he should, in Fuma’s opinion. “That kind of person… Fuma-kun, I like you.”

            Fuma’s grip on the ceramic tea cup he’s holding slips, but he steadies it and hastily puts it back on the table. “O-oh…”

            Marius bites his lip, disheartened by the less-than-ecstatic reaction he receives. “That’s no good?” he asks, soft and laced with hurt.

            Fuma has no choice but to be gentle. “We don’t know each other very well yet, do we?”

            “I know what kind of person you are,” Marius insists.

            “And I know you believe that, but things are different from where I’m standing,” Fuma says, carefully treading the line between sympathetic and firm. Whatever the public may think of him, he isn’t the type of person to string someone along, never mind some fresh-faced kid blatantly disregarding any instinct for self-preservation.

            He recognizes that universal look of someone who’s about to either cry or shout angrily, and he asks, “Do you want to go?” He hopes his underlying question is heard – what he wants to know is whether letting Marius go home now, letting him leave the show, would be the kindness he needs.

            “I want to go back to the house, with the others,” Marius says.

            Fuma can’t tell from Marius’s answer whether he understood what was being asked of him, and it makes him sigh. “Let’s head out, then.”

            He makes a decision in the time it takes for him to walk up to the reception desk, resolving to take the matter into his own hands. Once in front of the receptionist, he asks for a pen and a piece of paper. He scribbles on it, angling his body in a way that the camera can’t see what he’s writing. “Thanks for today, I really needed it,” he tells the receptionist.

            “It was our pleasure, please come back anytime!” she replies automatically.

            With his back to the camera, he moves to make it look like he might be handing her a note or the payment, when he’s really crumpling up the piece of paper he’d just written on.

            When he returns to Marius, he sees that the boy doesn’t look any less despondent. The bright side is that he looks no closer to tears, as far as Fuma can tell.

            “You took me by surprise,” he admits. That much deserves to be acknowledged.

            “I’m a contestant just like everyone else,” Marius says, slightly petulant.

            “I’m just saying, that takes bravery,” Fuma says. “When I was your age, I was useless when it came to this sort of thing. Still am, sometimes.” Then, he takes Marius’s hand and slips the crumpled piece of paper between the other boy’s clasped palms, keeping it hidden from the cameras all the while.

            Marius doesn’t say anything about Fuma’s understated compliment or his clandestine note. He stays silent all the way until they’re both in the car, heading back to their temporary home. Fuma can only imagine what Marius will think of the note when he reads it later.

 _Act shocked about going home tonight, ok?_ it says. And underneath, in an even messier scrawl: _Stay brave._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sou can already legally drink in this story, btw :)

            Marius had been the only housemate under the legal drinking age, so while they were all sad to lose such a refreshing presence, they also jumped at the chance to use it as an excuse to throw an all-out party and make exhaustive use of the show’s well-stocked bar.

            Juri takes the helm as the mood-maker and overall shit-stirrer, all in the name of group merriment. He makes sure to top-up everyone’s glass when they dip below the halfway mark, and takes it upon himself to monitor whose glasses are being refilled at too leisurely a pace. Fuma and some of the others work through their drinks at a speed that satisfies Juri, but there are a few problem children that need far more prodding.

            One of them is Hokuto, who’s gotten quieter than usual. He doesn’t make it obvious, but Juri can tell that he’s bothered by Fuma and Taiga drunkenly making out on one of the poolside lounge chairs without sparing a thought for propriety. Juri tries to convince Hokuto that he needs to drink his troubles away – or failing that, his inhibitions, so he can march up to them and bargain for a more polyamorous arrangement.

            “What’s stopping you from doing it?” Hokuto returns, reminding Juri that he’s supposed to be playing the game, too, in a manner of speaking.

            Juri faces deflection after deflection, until Kouchi and Jesse come to take his place keeping Hokuto’s spirits up. Juri finally leaves Hokuto to attend another pressing matter.

            That other matter is Sou, who starts off not wanting to discover what his limits are when it comes to alcohol. After Juri double-checks how old he is, he decides that Sou can’t continue on his adolescent life without ascertaining such vital information about himself.

            The next few minutes are devoted to plying Sou with his specialty cocktails, adding enough sugar to downplay the taste of alcohol. Juri felt like he was issued a personal challenge the way Sou kept making bitter faces after tasting his first few concoctions.

            Soon, he’s able to get the mix right for Sou’s tastes, and emptying the glasses put in front of him is no longer a problem.

            “He’s looking a little green,” Shintaro observes, after several cycles of Juri pouring drinks and Sou sportingly gulping them down. “Are you sure this is okay?”

            Juri shakes his head dismissively. “He’s fine, Shin-chan. And he needs this. He needs a little bit of liquid courage, our Sou-chan. He’s only spoken with Fuma for, like, five seconds the entire time he’s been here. We can’t have him go home with any regrets, can we?”

            Shintaro glances at Fuma’s direction where he’s still tangled up with Taiga and shrugs. “I haven’t talked to Fuma all that much, either, outside of the group. I know way more about you at this point.”

            Juri regards him. “Am I a consolation prize?”

            Sou giggles, throwing his arms around Juri and Shintaro in either a companionable or lightheaded fashion. It’s most likely a bit of both. “We talked more than that. It just – it’s just in comari. Comparib – uh, compared to others.”

            Kento, en route back to the corner where he and Shori are looking through magazines, stops in front of Sou. “Hey, did you drink the water Kouchi got for you?”

            “Stop talking to him like he’s not a man!” Juri tuts at Kento.

            Kento looks around for Kouchi and Hokuto, who have been better at getting through to most of their housemates when things start to head to a dangerous territory, but sees them occupied in what looks like a serious conversation along with Jesse. He lets them be after he forcibly makes Sou hold on to a full glass of water with both hands.

            That isn’t enough to keep them out of trouble, evidently. The next thing they know, a frenzied Shintaro is calling out for Hideko, or Tsubaki – for anyone. Next to him, Sou is passed out on Juri’s lap, as the other cradles him, a look of terror on his face.

            It’s what finally gets Fuma and Taiga to resurface from each other’s mouths. “What happened?” Taiga asks, eyes wide as he takes in the scene.

            “Fuck,” Fuma curses under his breath. He breaks into a run, heading towards the staff’s room.

            The next few seconds usher in a flurry of movement, ending in the crew holding Fuma and the contestants back as Sou gets carried into an ambulance.

 

\- X -

 

            It’s a lot quieter once the paramedics leave, but not a whole lot calmer. The atmosphere is fraught with concern, despite all the solemn reassurances that it’s not the first time a stomach pump saw the light of day thanks to the show, and that Sou will be back in the house in no time, good as new.

            It isn’t until several hours later, close to when the sun is about to rise, that the producers gather their cast members for a debrief. They reiterate status updates about Sou’s health, similar to the ones they’d given earlier that night, but they sound a lot more conclusive. They initiate a serious discussion about drinking to the point of alcohol poisoning, though it lasts no longer than five minutes. That seems to be the extent of their somber discussion, and the producers turn positive again when they talk of Sou’s eventual return.

            “Does he really want to come back?” Kouchi asks curiously.

            “We haven’t been able to speak much directly with Sou-kun,” says Tsubaki. “We’ve been getting updates from his father. The three of us, along with Kikuchi-san, will be driving up to Shizuoka to speak in person with Matsushima-san and provide the reassurance he needs.”

            “He went all the way back to Shizuoka?” Shintaro asks.

            “Yes, his father wanted him close by,” Hideko explains.

            “His father wanted him back home,” Shori translates under his breath. He jolts, like he’s surprised he said it out loud, but those near him agree with his assessment.

            “Is his father resisting his return?” Hokuto asks, one of those who caught Shori’s statement. “Is that why you’re heading out to Shizuoka, to talk them out of pulling him out?”

            “They have floated the idea of leaving, and he and his parents need to hash things out a bit more with us,” Hideko says.

            “It kind of sounds like a decision was already made,” Kouchi says. Hokuto reaches out to grasp his shoulder warningly, not wanting Kouchi to get himself in trouble with a few careless words.

            Tsubaki jumps in when Hideko falters. “Sou-kun is of age and should be free to make his own decisions. We’ll only be there to ensure he has all the resources he needs to make a final decision.”

            “Kouchi’s right, though. And I’m not sure how it would help him make a decision, if he were cornered in his own home like that,” Kento says, looking between the producers and Fuma. “If you really want to let him make the decision on his own, I don’t think showing up at his doorstep is the way to do it.”

            “Kento,” Hokuto whispers from the corner of his mouth, mild warning directed at Kento, this time.

            “I’m sorry, but if you insist on forcing his hand into coming back, I’m not sure I can stay and be a part of that,” Kento says. “Is that okay? You might get one contestant back, but you’ll lose another.”

            “That goes for me too,” Kouchi says without hesitation. “You’d lose two of us to possibly gain one back. And that’s a big if.”

            “Let’s all calm down. Sou-kun is an adult,” Tsubaki reminds them once again. “An adult who signed a contract.”

            “It doesn’t matter how old he is,” Hokuto says, dropping propriety altogether to support their former housemate. “I agree with them. I can’t imagine a father allowing his son to come back to this so soon, and I wouldn’t blame him.”

            Taiga nods. “If you try to enforce that contract and strong-arm Matsushima into coming back, consider me gone, too.”

            “I will leave too,” Shori speaks up.

            “Good thing you didn’t buy train tickets for the trip,” Fuma says to the producers, sounding smug as each of the remaining contestants adds his voice. He’s proud of all the contestants, bar none, for sticking their guns. He’s also slightly ashamed to be surprised by their strength of character.

            Tsubaki and Hideko proceed to assure them that they will act according to the best of each person’s interests, but it’s clear that they’ve lost any bargaining power, and they’re careful not to let the mood sour even further.

            The standstill is disrupted by Shintaro, who points out that Juri’s swaying on his feet and that he must be exhausted. They are all almost equally sleepless at that point, of course, but they know Sou’s involuntary ousting is weighing on Juri the most.

            They allow Shintaro to lead Juri back to the room that is now inhabited by just the two of them – Yuma, Ryuji, Marius, and Sou had all been their roommates. Taiga offers to follow them (it comes out far more lascivious than it probably should have), but Kouchi drags him away and tells him to let Shintaro sort it out by himself.

            “Will they be alright?” Fuma asks. “Juri looks shaken.”

            “He feels guilty about it. He was the one who encouraged Matsushima to drink more than he could handle,” Kouchi says. “Shintaro won’t let him blame himself for it, though. In the end, we all let it get too far. Well, except the two of you, since you were too busy excavating each other’s throats with your tongues.” Kouchi says the last part lightly, but it only serves to make Fuma feel worse about his non-involvement.

            “I’m willing to finish the job if you need to take your mind off things,” Taiga offers under his breath. It makes Kouchi giggle, half out of incredulous belief and half out of exhaustion.

            “I’m being beckoned.” Fuma gestures towards where Tsubaki and Hideko are waiting to talk to him, both glaring his way. He surveys the scene from where he’s standing. Hokuto and Jesse are huddled together, talking just outside of the door to their room. Juri and Shintaro have both disappeared into their own room, while Kento and Shori are nowhere to be seen, presumably already in their respective beds. “Looks like I’ll have to handle the ladies, so I’ll leave the gentlemen to you two.”

            “Didn’t know you swung that way,” Kouchi says. It isn’t exactly the most appropriate time for levity, but it’s a useful coping mechanism.

            It’s one that works for Taiga, too, and he leans a little heavier into Kouchi. “We can definitely take care of the gentlemen, can’t we, Kouchi?”

            “…What are you saying?”

            Fuma makes his way begrudgingly towards Hideko and Tsubaki. Each takes one of his arms and leads him towards the confessional room where the contestants usually do their one-on-one chats with a faceless interviewer. There are no cameras around at this time of day, so it’s just about as private as any part of the house.

            “That doesn’t concern you at all?” Tsubaki asks.

            Fuma first thinks that she’s referring to the fact that the group is exerting their will by sheer numbers – to which the answer would be, no, he’s not worried that they’re pulling together to stand up for Sou and his family’s wishes. But he sees that Tsubaki’s arm is outstretched and gesturing outside the window. He follows the direction she’s pointing to, leading to one of the closed doors in the house.

            “Do you want them to keep their doors open at this time of night?”

            “No, she meant, don’t you care that our villain is getting along too well with the endgame?” Hideko demands.

            That makes even less sense to Fuma. “What and who?”

            “Oh, let’s cut the charade,” Hideko says. “You know who the other endgame is. You might’ve eliminated one, but you kept the other. He’s the only one you can be bothered to look interested in.”

            Fuma rolls his eyes, because anyone with half a brain and functioning eyes could have picked out their planned ‘endgames.’ “Yeah, fine, but who’s your ‘villain?’ I’m pretty sure I already got rid of him.”

            “Please, we have one of each of those, too,” Tsubaki informs him. “Or we were supposed to – turns out he interviews much differently than he actually behaves.”

            “Tsubaki, just admit it, you don’t know the first thing about picking a villain," Hideko cuts in, dismantling their united front.

            It dawns on Fuma that Tsubaki had actually been pointing at Jesse and Hokuto, who are still talking to each other, standing around the hall and not joining their other roommates just yet.

            “Jesse’s your villain? Really?” Fuma snickers mockingly. “How did you figure that? With two half-white guys, there’s a chance one of them would turn out to be an asshole?”

            “Tsubaki’s failed casting decisions aside—”

            “Excuse me, who’s three – no, _two_ of six so far, and who’s got all six still in the running?” Tsubaki snaps.

            “Five, you’ll have five very soon,” Hideko says, decisive as anything.

            “I couldn’t care less about who’s Team Hideko or Team Tsubaki, but I take it you’ve decided for me about who I’m letting go?” Fuma interrupts their bickering.

            Tsubaki sighs. “We’re doing you a favor here. Nobody should have anything perceived as mutual with the endgame aside from you. The point of this entire endeavor is to make you more desirable, after all, and to have everyone root for who you’re ultimately picking.”

            “And you’ve decided that for me, too?”

            “Who you might end up picking,” Tsubaki corrects herself half-heartedly.

            “If you can’t trust us with this one, at least do it knowing there will be no further resistance on our end as far as what to do with Sou-kun,” Hideko says.

            Fuma wants to point out that they’re left with no other moves when it comes to Sou, but he does like the sound of their assured submission to his and the contestants’ will. He likes the idea that he can do his part to ensure Sou’s choice is respected.

            Even if it means turning Jesse into the sacrificial lamb.

 

\- X -

 

            Following Sou’s departure and Jesse’s elimination, Fuma has trouble getting his brain to shut down long enough to catch a decent amount of sleep. The third night in a row spent tossing and turning has him getting out of bed entirely to work the restlessness off. On a whim, he decides to make use of the space on the roof that they previously shot a few scenes in. Instead of taking the stairs from inside the house, he figures he can make the trek with the assistance of the pipe on the side of the house, as well as the adjacent tree looming right over its edge.

            His foot slips more than once and he scrapes his palms halfway, but he manages to scale the length of it without major injury. At the same time his head clears the top edge of the rooftop, the door atop the building opens. It startles him and makes him fumble, and the person who’d just opened the door notices him and sprints towards him.

            “Are you alright?” Kento asks. Fuma absently notices hands reaching out to his arms as if that’d do anything if he really does lose his footing.

            “I’m fine.” Fuma would shrug him off, but he’s preoccupied trying to pull himself up and over the edge.

            Once Kento ascertains that Fuma isn’t about to fling himself three stories to the ground, he releases a sigh. “What do you think you’re doing? Why are you scaling up a building like you’re Spiderman when there’s a perfectly serviceable entrance inside the house?”

            Fuma wobbles on to his feet, muscles stinging with the strain they’d just been put through. “It was easier than getting permission.”

            “I can verify that it isn’t.”

            “They let you up here, then?” Fuma grunts.

            “It’s not a top-secret hideout,” Kento reasons. “There’s a staff member who’s still up and I just told him I couldn’t sleep. Some of them are incredibly nice, you know. I heard they’re coordinating a video chat with Matsushima for the group, so we can all talk to him and see how he’s doing.”

            They sit on opposite sides of the roof, until Kento can no longer ignore Fuma’s presence. He studies the sullen-looking man. “I didn’t think you could get this depressed over sending Jesse home. Are you thinking about Matsushima? Or maybe Marius?” Kento crouches next to him.

            “You don’t know? What happened to our ‘special connection’ from the first day?” Fuma asks, abruptly snide. He’s tired and lacking sleep, and he could do without the prying.

            Kento takes a second to recover from Fuma suddenly lashing out. “I have a better understanding of it now. It’s the kind of connection where you don’t bother holding back what you really think when you’re around me. So in that sense, it’s safe to say that’s going strong."

            Fuma is not ready to relinquish his aimlessly poor mood. “How do you know I’m not holding back right now?”

            “I hardly think you know me well enough to despise so passionately,” Kento says. His pleasant expression never wavers, and it impresses Fuma as much as it irritates him. “The things I say disgust you, right? Anybody would’ve been blind not to see your reaction, from the time I told you about what I was looking for. Or maybe I’ve just seen that look often enough.”

            Marius’ words came back to him then, or rather Marius’ account of Ryuji’s words. Fuma realizes it probably isn’t the first time Kento has heard that he’s a piece of work. He must already know that his straightforwardness is unnerving, to say the least. Opting not to bring up Ryuji, Fuma asks, “Why do you make yourself vulnerable like that?” It sounds a lot less rude than his last few turns, at least.

            Kento’s legs start to cramp, so he settles himself next to Fuma. “It’ll be worth it, someday.”

            It’s no less cheesy than Kento’s first words to him, but it’s a bit easier for Fuma to stomach blind optimism. “You sound like an M.”

            Kento laughs, way too loud in the stillness of the night. “Sometimes I am. I’m versatile.” He glances sideways then waggles his eyebrows at Fuma with over-the-top suggestiveness.

            Fuma fights a smile back from taking over his face. “And an incurable flirt, for someone who’s so obsessed with romance.”

            “I don’t see where the disconnect is. I’m not waiting around for Prince Charming to come galloping into my life on his noble steed.” Kento absently stretches out his legs in front of him. “You create fate with your own two hands. You’ve got to put yourself out there. You and I are on the right track for that, at least.”

            Fuma agrees with Kento on his idea of fate, but doesn’t feel the need to vocalize his agreement. “How so? You sound convinced that I don’t like you, so I don’t see how you can think you’ll get anything out of this.”

            “Well, yeah, you have zero romantic interest in me. I’d be an idiot to go after you. The real hope for me here is the fact that you’re only going to pick one guy out of all of us, so there’s going to be ten other candidates who’ll be just as single as I am at the end of it all.” This succeeds in prying a full belly laugh out of Fuma, in turn making Kento’s smile just a shade brighter. “I’m disappointed you kicked Jesse out so early, if I’m honest.”

            “Geez, you too?” Fuma asks. “From what the producers tell me, you’ve got competition on that front.”

            “Seriously?” Kento says, eyes rounding and seemingly sparkling with excitement for a bit of gossip. “Who had their eye on him? Does one of our housemates need a shoulder to cry on?”

            Fuma has a problem saying out loud that there was some remote chance that Hokuto might have liked Jesse, so he doesn’t. The idea that Kento might set his hopeful eyes on Hokuto next is twice as disturbing. “We should switch places,” he says instead. “You should be the one doing this bachelor shit.”

            “I’m not famous like you. Plus, getting to know people and then sending them home… I can’t imagine how tough that is. You don’t want us to see it, but you do care, in your own way.”

            Fuma looks at him thoughtfully, and before he can say anything, Kento follows up with, “I’m right, aren’t I?”

            Fuma rolls his eyes to make up for the fact that he can’t tamp his grin down, this time. “You are such a pain in the ass.”

            “Like I said, I’m versatile.” They share a dirty chuckle at that. When it dies down, Kento asks, “How did you get roped into this in the first place? If you don’t mind me asking.”

            “I take it you’re one of the ones that don’t know about me," Fuma says. Maybe it’s because he and Kento are still virtual strangers, for all the time they’ve spent in close proximity to each other, or it’s that they’ve come to that juncture in the night that makes people do mysterious things. But there’s a feeling of safety that Fuma gets, one that allows him to speak on a subject he hasn’t discussed with anyone involved in the show, outside of TV show producers and his manager. “Long story short, the people calling the shots at my company are convinced that this’ll clean up my image somehow. I got into shit with paps because of the people I was seen with, and it got my manager in full-blown damage control mode.”

            Kento digests this with his mouth agape. “What does your private life have to do with anything?”

            “It’s company rules,” Fuma says, which is the best way he can think of to explain his ludicrous circumstances. “Trust me, sorry bastards have gotten fired for less.”

            “It’s absurd,” Kento asserts. “Are you a rock star or the prime minister?”

            Fuma raises an eyebrow at him. “Neither. I’m hardly a rock star.”

            “That’s what Tsubaki-san is selling you as,” Kento tells him.

            Fuma is absolutely sure that the misinformation is deliberate on Tsubaki’s part. “Probably thinks you’d put more effort into trying to land a ‘rock star’ than a ‘member of a boyband.’”

            “Ohhh, I get it!” Kento says. “I bet you’re the token bad boy in an idol group, right? That’s so awesome! Seriously! I like boybands, or idols, whatever you want to be called.”

            “Why am I not surprised?”

            “What’s not to like? Catchy songs, sweet lyrics, beautiful guys singing and dancing to them…” Kento says wistfully. “You can’t tell me you don’t see the appeal. You’re in the business, after all.”

            “For the record, I don’t like it as much as you and your other fangirl friends do,” Fuma says. “I have a saturation point.”

            “That’s fair. Except for the fangirl part, you jerk. But let’s just say if it were me, I wouldn’t get sick of it,” Kento says, sure as the day. “I could listen to and stare at guys like Yamada Ryosuke for the rest of my life.”

            “Yamada, huh?” The way Kento says his name, Fuma can envision him plastering the walls of his home with full-size posters of the famous idol. He doesn’t say it to impress Kento, but he’s curious what type of reaction he’d get when he tells him, “I’ve worked with him.”

            “You’ve worked with – Shut. Up. SHUT UP!” Kento all but shrieks. “I had the biggest crush on him when I was in high school!”

            Fuma shrugs, satisfied with the effortless way he’s gotten Kento to out himself for the fangirl he really is. “I met him at some variety show. He’s a hard-worker, as far as I can tell. He’s also probably a whole head shorter than you?”

            “I don’t care, I’ll chop my ankles off so we’re eye-to-eye. Just the sight of his face will heal my pain.”

            “Stop, I’m trying to keep my dinner down.”

            Kento grins shamelessly at him. “Marius was right. You try to hide it, but you’re a good guy, after all.”

            “Marius?” Such traitorous words from a deceptively sweet face.

            Kento nods. “He said you were really kind to him after he confessed to you.”

            “Did he come crying to you after that night?” Fuma guesses.

            “Don’t flatter yourself. He really does like you, though. Your kindness went long a way.” Fuma clams up, and Kento helps him out. “It was that age gap, huh?”

            “Pretty much.”

            “I thought as much. Still, underage or not, he may just be right about you.”

            “You know what they say about a broken clock.”

            Their conversation turns placid into the dawn, fatigue causing words to soften and sentences to form slower. Kento nods off at one point, and Fuma allows the sliver of kindness in his heart to expose itself. He shakes the other man awake, telling him to get the hell to bed already and have some pity for the make-up artists that’ll have to work miracles on his puffy face.


	4. Chapter 4

            Neither Hideko nor Tsubaki are sure how to produce Fuma and Juri’s date. They can’t very well tell them to act like they’re having fun, because between the two of them, it’s clear they’re having a blast. On the other hand, it’s also painfully obvious how platonic their enjoyment of each other is.

            They choose to visit the go kart tracks situated in a large indoor shopping complex. Fuma gets the brilliant idea to stop by at a costume shop first to pick up the appropriate apparel, and they proceed to bicker over who gets to be Mario and who has to be Luigi. Juri insists that Fuma’s height makes him Luigi by default, while Fuma uses his image color in his unit to try and win the argument. (Juri counters that he knows Fuma’s purple, catching the latter by surprise – he’d almost forgotten that some contestants knew anything about his professional life.)

            Their friendly but exhaustive arguing turns out to be pointless, as they separately choose different costumes anyway. Fuma opts for Yoshi, and Juri goes for the Toad costume.

            Juri is disappointed when he has to take off his large mushroom head once they’re at the go kart tracks, as the go kart staff would not allow him to forgo a helmet. The mushroom head had been the sole selling point for him in the first place. Fuma laughs at his forlorn face when he glances at the polka-dotted monstrosity that is left to the side of the room, but he gets his turn to mock Fuma for how long it takes to get the seatbelt around the circumference of his overly large green-and-white waist.

            They finish two experimental laps before they jump right into a head-to-head race. Juri wins the first one, prompting a celebratory run across the track on foot, making several staff members panic due to the multiplicity of safety violations he’s committing. Naturally, Fuma corals him into a rematch, one where his competitive spirit fuels him into a hard-fought victory. Following this, he hops out of his go kart and mimics Juri’s method of celebrating, once more throwing the staff into hysterics.

            They trade wins and losses, bonding easily through raucous laughter and aggressive crashes. But eight rounds later, the producers are still looking for any scene that would deliver what their audience is looking for. As it is, they’re going to have to rely on a lot of scene-cutting to come up with a fifteen-second-long TV preview that would be remotely intriguing.

            Their hopes tentatively rise when hunger gets the best of the pair and they set out to get supper. The producers hold out hope for a conversation worth catching on tape, never mind that they’re planning to have it in the middle of a busy food court.

            “You ended up getting noodles?” Juri asks, peering at the contents of Fuma’s fluorescent orange tray. “I thought you’d be sick of them after that wanko soba competition you guys had.”

            “We did that two months ago,” Fuma says. “You watched that? You’re actually stalking me, aren’t you?”

            Juri laughs. “I follow everyone in the industry. It started mostly with my older brother. I stalked him the most, especially when he was super active.”

            “Your older brother…” Fuma pauses. “You can’t mean Tanaka Koki.”

            “And yet I do.” Juri grins. “You don’t see the family resemblance?”

            Fuma tilts his head left and right, scrutinizing Juri’s features to search for a hint of his alleged brother’s face. “Where would I?”

            “None of my brothers and I look like each other,” Juri says with a shrug. “All our friends are sure we’re all adopted. We aren’t, as far as I know.”

            “I’d get a DNA test to be sure.” Fuma slurps his noodles without stopping from talking. “So Koki-kun is the one who got all the performance genes in your family? You like music a lot, though.”

            “I thought about following his footsteps,” Juri admits. “But then he brought me to a studio one day, and I got to play a little bit with the equipment, and I thought producing was incredibly cool. And that’s where I’m heading now. I wonder what would happen if I went through with it, though, applying for the same company as my brother.”

            “We’d be colleagues,” Fuma muses.

            Juri hums. “I can outrace your ass on TV on a daily basis.”

            Fuma turns to the camera. “And now, here’s the footage of me beating Koki-kun’s baby brother by a full fifteen seconds.”

            “That clip has been doctored to make him look better.” Juri shakes his head repeatedly, as the two of them are barely able to contain their laughter. “In the end, I don’t know if I’m equipped to have everything be so public, you know? I can only guess what you go through, or even what my brother went through, but seeing what happened after he was made to leave his group…”

            Juri doesn’t complete his sentence, and Fuma understands that he doesn’t want to air such thoughts out while the cameras are present. “Yeah, that surely must have made a big impression.”

            “Shintaro’s the same, too.”

            “Oh, that’s right…” Unlike with Juri, Fuma did know about what happened with Shintaro and _his_ brother.

            “Your case hits close to home, for both of us. You know, with these paparazzi doing all that they can to catch you at an incriminating moment.” Juri smiles in a way that lets Fuma know he’s being euphemistic. “But you’re smarter than my brother, and probably Shin’s, too. You’ll make it out alright.”

            “Thanks?”

            “I’m saying you can take a bit more risk here,” Juri explains. “If you were taking this seriously, you’d kick me out of the show.”

            “…What?”

            “My own brothers couldn’t be less interested in hooking up with me!” Juri says, then immediately makes a face. “Wait, no. I meant, they’re as interested as you are, meaning not at all. And that’s okay, because I can see us being really good buddies at most, too.”

            “We at least get along really well,” Fuma points out. “That’s more than I can say for some people.”

            “Yeah, but are any of them as solidly in the friend zone as I am?” Juri points out. “Don’t let the opportunity pass you by, man. Not that I actually think there’s a chance you’ll end up choosing Shori or Shintaro at the end of this, but there’s no harm in getting to know them.”

            Fuma mulls over whether there was hesitation from Juri as he said Shintaro’s name, or if he was imagining it. “Why would you diss them like that?”

            “I’m not,” Juri denies. “Though, on an unrelated note, it’s pretty damn obvious how happy you were when you were dancing with Hokuto that first day.”

            When Fuma has a chance to think about it later that day, he determines that Juri’s thought process must be, in part, influenced by what happened with Sou. He figures that Juri translated Sou’s regrettable exit from the show into a carpe diem battle cry.

            There is sense in it – Fuma’s already stuck in this situation, and he may as well explore all the options that have been made readily available to him. It’s logical, and arguably practical… but it doesn’t apply to Fuma.

            For the entirety of his postpubescent life, he’s only ever pursued or responded to instant attraction. He’s not interested in the slow burn, because for him, it’s never been necessary. He has always been sufficiently aware of his own feelings. Juri pointed out as much when he made that supposedly offhand comment about Hokuto.

            Fuma knows his interest in someone within minutes of meeting them. It’s not as if he’s opposed to knowing more about people, but they do fall cleanly into categories for him very early on. His instincts unfailingly identify the ones he’ll want to befriend, those he’ll want to date, and those he couldn’t care less about, all with acute precision.

            That’s why for the most part, Juri is wrong to say that Fuma should kick him out if he wanted to take things seriously. As early as the first day, the attraction he’d felt for Hokuto had been matched by the companionship he felt when talking to Juri. And if he were to take things seriously, he’d keep Juri around, because that affinity is one he’s just as reluctant to part with.

            But Fuma’s not as stubborn to requests as he might seem, particularly when the source is someone he has come to like. And on elimination night, Juri’s appeal to be sent home stays at the forefront of his mind.

            That night, they go through the ritual of calling contestants one by one to safety, and Fuma ties the symbolic red string around their wrists. When he’s down to one string left to give, there’s only Juri and Shintaro standing in front of him, waiting to hear who gets to stay in the show and join the rest of the “safe” contestants.

            After Sakurai gives him the cue to call on a name, Fuma summons the memory of the slightly betrayed look that Shintaro shot him a few days back, when he had announced that he was going to take Juri out on a date. It’s all it takes to embolden him. He stretches his hand back to Sakurai, string in hand.

            “I don’t need this one,” he says.

            “…What do you mean?” Sakurai stares at the string uncomprehendingly.

            “I won’t choose between Juri and Shintaro,” Fuma says. “They’re good guys, and being by each other’s side when they leave will be much better for them.” He catches Juri’s eye meaningfully.

            Juri looks surprised, only breaking their eye contact to glance at an equally shocked Shintaro.

            Tsubaki makes a note that they’ll have to edit out the identical smiles that the two of them trade, almost instantly after finding out that they’ve been cut from the show at the same time.

 

\- X -

 

            The next person that Fuma takes out on a date is also subsequently eliminated. Unfortunately, the decision doesn’t come nearly as easily as it had for the Juri-Shintaro double elimination, and in fact was even more of a struggle than Marius’s had been.

            After Juri, Fuma’s next date is with Taiga. Both of them had been meaning to see a thriller that had come out weeks prior, and are equally excited to catch it, once and for all, and opt to see it at a drive-in. He and Taiga watch the movie in rapt attention in the beginning, but once some kisses and exploratory touches get sneaked in, their movie-watching plans are derailed.

            It’s all par for course of what Fuma expected from a date with Taiga. That is, up until Taiga flips the script on him at the end, pulling out convincingly earnest facial expressions and plausibly honest words.

            Taiga professed feelings beyond desire for Fuma’s body or fascination with his celebrity status, saying something along the lines of liking the person he’d gotten to know, and fostering the flicker of hope that it could be reciprocated. 

            Not a full week later, it culminates in Taiga’s ousting, which Fuma justifies in a not-entirely-forthcoming but not-entirely-false way. He sticks to his guns about not leading people on from an emotional standpoint, but it’s a little trickier in Taiga’s case, in that there’s hardly a delicate way of saying, “are you sure it wasn’t purely physical for you?”

            It’s an exercise in convoluted diplomacy when he rejects Taiga’s confession for all the world to hear. All throughout his speech, he holds on to the assumption that Taiga’s feelings for him are a false positive, if not entirely false.

            Fuma’s spiel is that he had a lot of fun with Taiga, but it didn’t help him understand the other man at all. “Maybe that’s my problem and not yours,” he says, “but the fact is that it makes it hard for me to tell if what you’re saying is all just a part of a game.”

            Taiga takes it in stride, mustering a gracious smile before nodding his good-bye to the other contestants. Fuma can only guess what he’d say in the confessional, though.

            Not a week after eliminating two contestants promptly after going on a date with them, it’s Hokuto’s turn to take Fuma out. Hokuto is too smart not to pick up on the elimination pattern – it happened with Marius, then Juri (with Shintaro as an extra casualty), then Taiga. He’s only half-joking when he expresses his concern on how he might be the next person to fall prey to the date curse.

             “It’s not like it’s one and done, I’ve gone out with you and you can go. People always go on first dates and realize then and there they don’t need a second one, so this shouldn’t be any different,” Fuma defends himself. “Besides, with one of them, he practically begged me to get cut so he can ride off into the sunset with his buddy.”

            “Hopefully, I’m immune to the curse. You didn’t get rid of me after our first date, after all.” Hokuto adjusts his jacket, brushing off invisible lint.

            Fuma tries on a parody of one of Hokuto’s mysterious smiles, guessing a real one wouldn’t work as well on him as it does on Hokuto. “Maybe you are.”

            Hokuto chuckles, recognizing what Fuma’s doing. “People in here are really falling for you. Is that scary?”

            Fuma still doesn’t see it this way, despite having received two separate confessions as of late. Maybe Marius’s crush on him was real, but it was still a far cry from what Hokuto is suggesting. The artificiality of the circumstances, the ongoing supervision from his manager and the show’s producers, and Fuma’s own private resistance wouldn’t allow for that.

            If pressed, he can recall one single moment when it felt like someone was truly seeing him and he was allowing himself to be seen, and that had been during his late-night encounter on the rooftop with Kento. And while there is always a distant possibility that Kento could come to authentically like him after that, the guy also made it clear that he’s reset his romantic ambitions to zero as far as Fuma’s concerned. Thus, in Fuma’s opinion, he has nothing to be scared about.

            He dials up his playfulness in response to Hokuto’s question. “What’s with that question? Don’t tell me _you’re_ falling for me.”

            “I plead the fifth,” Hokuto says, matching his levity. “I don’t think there’s a way to answer that without jeopardizing my position with you.”

            “I’m not scared of you, if that helps,” Fuma says. He may be closely guarding their conversations up to this day, steering them from anything too personal lest it opens the door to complications he’s ill-prepared to handle… Besides that, he’s telling the truth.

            Hokuto’s lips quirk upwards. “Is that a good thing?”

            “It usually is.”

            Hokuto abandons his short-lived goal of trying to pry a blush out of Fuma, choosing to give in to his curiosity instead. “What about the others? What do you think of them?”

            "The others.” Fuma says to himself as he gathers his thoughts. “I don’t think there’s a way to answer that without jeopardizing my position with you, either, but I’ll try. I’ll start with Kouchi – he’s the easiest. It’s just easy around him. It’s a bit different from how it is with you.”

            “It’s not easy around me?” asks Hokuto.

            “No, it’s not that. It’s hard to explain the difference. Maybe it’s that he makes it easy for everybody.” Fuma hides his embarrassed vagueness by scratching the back of his neck. “I get along with you, too. We have a lot in common. I picked your date out of everyone else’s, after all, and I didn’t even know it was you.”

            Hokuto smiles, reassured. “That is promising,” he says. “Go on.”

            “You want more flattery?”

            “No, no.” Hokuto laughs at Fuma’s dubious look. “About the other two. You’re not getting away that easy. What do you feel about Kento?”

            “Nakajima…” That’s even harder to explain than the difference between Kouchi and Hokuto. “He keeps the dynamics interesting. It’s not that you couldn’t get along with him. Actually, you can be yourself around him. But at the same time, there’s almost like this undercurrent. Something that keeps you on your toes.”

            “I see,” Hokuto says. He doesn’t appear to understand what Fuma’s saying, exactly, but doesn’t ask him to elaborate. “And Shori?”

            “He’s calming in a way that none of you are, with him smiling all the time and not being off-putting with it. But he’s harder to comprehend. Not that that’s bad.”

            “No, it’s not,” agrees Hokuto. “But are you convinced he’s as old as he says he is?”

            “Right?” Fuma says, and they look at each other, excited that their opinions align again. “And speaking of, did you know Shintaro and Sou were the same age?”

            “I had no idea,” Hokuto marvels. “Oh, that makes me feel so much better about Juri letting that kid drink on national TV.”

            Fuma thinks about Juri possibly watching this in his living room, and changes the subject. “Why are you so curious about what I think of the others? Could it be that you’re jealous?”

            “Sounds like you want me to be,” Hokuto replies with faux-sweetness.

            Fuma would laugh, but he has finally noticed how they’ve been gravitating towards each other, faces close enough that they’re now mere millimeters apart. He barely has to move to place his lips on Hokuto’s.

            This time, none of the sweetness is fake, and the way Hokuto presses back with an almost gentle firmness makes Fuma’s heart race. After they pull back slowly, it only gets worse for Fuma’s already ragged breathing to see Hokuto open his eyes slowly as if coming out of a trance. It affirms the thought that he might come to really like this guy, if he doesn’t already.

            It also seems like a good time to remind himself not to get too close. Not for the first time, he steadfastly keeps a safe distance between them – if not physically, then in every other way there is. It makes him feel much safer, especially after it takes him the rest of their date to shake the kiss off his mind.

            The precise moment that Fuma is no longer dwelling on how it felt like to kiss Hokuto is when the two of them return to the house, finding Kento and Shori beside themselves with laughter in the living room. That is, of course, metaphorical, since in the literal sense they’re beside each other, shoulders pressed together as they huddle over someone’s cellphone.

            “What did you do to Kouchi?” Fuma asks them.

            “Welcome back,” Kento says, and Shori echoes him right after. “Nothing, he just went to the other room. He said we were being a disturbance.”

            “You bothered _Kouchi_?” Hokuto asks, like Kouchi being anything other than overly accepting was inconceivable.

            “Kento-kun did,” Shori clarifies emphatically. “He was getting a little too engrossed in the movie.” Fuma is slightly surprised to detect the slight sarcasm in Shori’s voice. It may be his own fault for not getting to know the guy as well as he could have, just as Juri had suggested, but it’s the first hint of Shori’s personality that Fuma has witnessed.

            “Oh, now you’re playing it cool, like you weren’t gripping the pillow ‘til your knuckles were so white they were almost translucent,” Kento accuses him.

            Shori laughs in the not-upsetting way Fuma praised him for earlier. “I’m sorry to inform you, I’m not Marius.”

            “Yeah, you’ll need to add another fifty centimeters for that, chibi.” Shori feigns an offended face that appears far too delighted. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

            They’re back to their coordinated giggling and it grates on Fuma’s nerves like nothing has since Kento won their foosball game. “I can see why Kouchi was so annoyed. I can’t believe you two got high and didn’t share your weed with him.”

            Kento rolls his eyes as Shori waves his hand repeatedly in front of his face, gesturing that Fuma’s facetious suspicions are incorrect. “Don’t be an idiot,” Kento says. “We were goofing around with Face Swap, and every time we did it, it always just ended up looking like there were two Shori’s because his features are so sharp. So then we tried swapping him with a picture of Dobby from Harry Potter, and it’s—” He can’t quite finish his story as he starts laughing uncontrollably once again. He gives up and wordlessly hands Hokuto the phone to show the image that has them cracking up.

            Hokuto chuckles then passes the phone to Fuma, and it’s clear that he’s more amused by Kento and Shori’s reaction to the image than the image itself. When Fuma looks down at the phone, he has the same response to it as Hokuto did. It is funny to see two faintly deformed versions of Shori, but he’s mostly baffled by Kento and Shori’s excessive glee over it.

            He can’t enjoy it as much when his chest constricts as he recalls Kento’s words about what he thinks he’ll get out of the show once it’s all over. He knows it’s a stupid detail to fret over. It makes him question whether he’s getting brainwashed by all the producers’ talk of endgames and being the axis of attention, but on the bright side, he’s distracted from the hazardous path of overthinking his and Hokuto’s kiss.

 

\- X -

 

            “Shori’s gone.”

            Tomo is used to Fuma forgoing a greeting over the phone, so she doesn’t comment on his first words to her after she takes his call. “That’s smart,” she says. “He doesn’t do you any favors after the underage scandal.”

            Fuma had almost forgotten about that. In truth, he’d made a snap decision without putting a lot of thought into it. “Right. Keeping him on longer would just be more fodder for the internet trolls calling me a child molester.”

            “How you can still go online with all the shit that’s out there is beyond me,” Tomo says. “In any case, that’s nine down, and three to go. It’s almost over, Fuma. Work hard.”

            “I can’t wait to go back home,” Fuma sighs. “I don’t even care that I’ll have to record that crappy A-side as soon as this is done.”

            “The other members like it just fine,” Tomo says.

            “So they say.” He glances out at the view from where he’s sitting – he’s on the rooftop ledge, legs swinging over the side of the building – and gets an idea. “Our next PV should be on a rooftop. That would be cool.”

            “I’ll bring it up in the next meeting,” Tomo says noncommittally.

            “Come on, give me this one. I’ve been a good little soldier here, giving you status updates like a teenager with a curfew.”

            “I’ll float it by the team, but you know I hardly have the final say in it. Anyway, I gotta go. Remember to play nice and don’t make me come running there to whip your ass into shape.”

            “Yes, ma’am.”

            Another voice chimes in, not long after Fuma cuts off the call. “You get signal up here?”

            Fuma doesn’t turn, not entirely surprised to find that Kento is also seeking the relative solitude of the rooftop. “Yeah. Want to prank call someone?”

            “I don’t memorize anyone’s number aside from my mom’s.” Kento stands next to him, but stays far enough from the ledge. “Be careful, this isn’t exactly a small house.”

            “I’m fine. And stop trying to make me feel sorry for you. Don’t you have a best friend, or an ex?”

            “I have friends, I just don’t know their numbers off the top of my head.” Kento visibly hesitates before he continues. “And as for an ex, I’ve never had what you’d call a serious relationship.”

            “What? How is that possible?” Fuma exclaims. “You’re a romance maniac but you never let yourself get tied down?”

            “I want to be tied down,” Kento huffs. He catches the mirth in Fuma’s eyes. “Don’t go there, that joke’s too easy. But yeah, there weren’t a lot of guys like me in middle school or high school – definitely none that I knew of. Then when I got to university, I was too slammed with coursework and extracurriculars.”

            “…Okay, and?” Fuma turns, slowly enough so as not to spook Kento and have him screeching at him for being too careless or something. “You’re not in school anymore, right?”

            “Well, I am, but I’m a teacher now. And where am I to meet people, really?” Kento says, keeping an arm out in case Fuma loses his balance and needs to grab him. “I could never date anyone at work, period. I don’t like going to clubs. Trying to make something out of nothing, it’s a bother.” He sags down to sit on the floor.

            “And yet you bought into a reality show’s promise of a chance at a serious relationship?” Fuma says. “Besides, nobody says you have to go out every night. Get a grip, Nakajima, you’re in your 20’s.”

            “I don’t know, that scene is too exhausting for me. It’s like I pour myself into it and then all I manage to do is drive people further away because they’re all on a different page. It feels like I’m in a different novel.”

            “How poetic,” Fuma says, neither complimentary nor derogatory. “Get better at weeding out the ones who want to fuck around, and find the ones who actually enjoy sappy words for what they are. If you’re lucky, they’ll say those lines as readily as you can back to you.”

            “Huh? Why?”

            “You’re weak to it. If someone fed your lines back to you, you’d crumble.”

            Kento looks like he’s on the verge of arguing, but stays silent.

            “What, you think that it isn’t obvious?” Fuma says. “You wouldn’t think those lines work if they didn’t have an effect on you in the first place. You’d totally fall for a guy who says shit like the stuff you told me the first day.”

            “You make it sound like I want to date myself.”

            “Why not? I’d want to,” Fuma says. Kento looks up at him, wide-eyed, and Fuma busts out mischievous grin. “Date myself.”

            “I knew that,” Kento says, reaching up to smack his arm. “That’s why you’re into Hokuto.”

            “Oh, nice try, but you can’t sidetrack me when I’m having a breakthrough here. I’m even letting you hear it free of charge.” Fuma sits on the ground next to Kento. “There may not be a lot, but others like you must exist. It’d be weak just to give up, or settle for anyone, least of all the leftovers from this show.”

            Kento smiles one of his prominent smiles, the one that’s too large for his face but suits him all the same. “Please be careful, I might fall for you if you keep being this kind to me.”

            “Were you listening?” Fuma chides him, ignoring the way his heart skip a beat. It’s late, and he probably has lingering butterflies from his earlier date. “I am _most definitely_ not like you. I’m very firmly at the opposite end of a Nakajima Type – I’m all the way to Normal, Healthy Adult type.”

            “Okay, well, that’s better. It’s much harder to get my heart racing over something like that,” Kento says wryly. “How about Yamada-kun, is he a Nakajima Type?"

            “…And someone closer to your height. Come on, Shori? What were you thinking?”

            “What? Why are you bringing up Shori, of all people?”

            Fuma refuses to think about why he brought up Shori, specifically, barreling on as if he’d never mentioned him. “You can have one last piece of advice. After this, I’ll charge by the hour, so listen carefully: your lines suck. If you really want to use them, save them for when they matter. Whoever told you that they work on complete strangers, they were either coddling you, or saying what they needed to get laid. Because nobody in real life is going to fall for… I don’t know.” He struggles to come up with a line and throws out the first one that pops into his head. “’You look good in those pants. Know what’ll look even better?’”

            “I would never say that!” Kento says, smacking Fuma’s arm yet again. He reconsiders. “Or if I do, I’d end with, ‘nobody, because nobody can surpass you.’”

            Fuma lets out a laugh that, if he didn’t know any better, borders on fondness. “Is it my turn to hit you?”


	5. Chapter 5

            With fewer people to interact with, the remaining contestants begin to migrate to the staff areas during breaks, becoming friendlier with the behind-the-scenes crew. Kento and Kouchi pass some time there after sharing breakfast with them, until they’re shooed away for official business by a head engineer – with a polite smile, of course.

            Kento is on his way out when he spots a worn-looking piece of paper on the ground. He picks it up, intending to throw it away, but catches his name upon taking a cursory glance at it. A closer look shows the names of all twelve contestants on it, two names for every line, accompanied by a corresponding pair of terms.

            He and Taiga are matched up on the note, and he is flabbergasted by what’s written next to their names.

            “What is this…” he mutters to himself. He looks up to see Kouchi walking slightly ahead of him, debating what he should do.

            Kouchi makes his mind up for him when he glances back to see if they are headed the same way. He sees Kento standing perfectly still, clutching at a single piece of paper. “What’s up? Everything alright?”

            “I’m not sure how to answer that.”

            “Hmm?” Kouchi jogs back towards him, peering at what he’s holding. “What’s that?”

            “I found it in the staff room.”

            Kouchi takes one edge of the paper between his thumb and index finger so that they’re each holding one side of the note. “Whose is this?”

            “I don’t know, but it looks like someone’s… notes about us.”

            They scan the piece of paper together, reading the words next to their names and the names of the people they were living with for the past few months.

            The look of confusion on Kouchi’s face morphs in stages into one of indignation. “Fuck them.”

            “It’s not that bad,” Kento demurs, mostly surprised by the other man’s vehement reaction. He hadn’t thought Kouchi capable of hostility before he spat out that expletive like it were poison.

            “’Smother dearest?’” Kouchi says, mostly to himself.

            Kento signals him to be quiet, as he surveys the area for any sight of the producers or their assistants. “There are worse things on here,” he says under his breath. It’s a fair assessment, given that the note holds such gems as “alpha bitch,” “femme” and “butch.” Even the “ingenue” next to Sou’s name reads as sardonic. But Kouchi’s outrage isn’t extinguished by this fact, so Kento ushers him back to their room where they can speak more freely.

            Kouchi goes along with him, all the while venting. “They put me opposite Shori, and they have him down as ‘pressure cooker.’ You know what this means, don’t you?” When they reach their room, Kouchi shuts the door and all at once talks in an elevated volume. “They wanted us playing off of each other for entertainment value. They were banking on me to smother Shori like some– some overbearing jackass, to push him too far and make him snap. That’s what I was brought on the show to do.”

            “How would that have worked? You know your boundaries. Not to mention, Shori’s such a composed kid,” Kento says. “Also, what exactly was I supposed to do as the ‘Madonna’ to Kyomoto’s ‘whore?’”

            “I really don’t get that,” Kouchi admits. “What does Madonna have to do anything?”

            “They’re not talking about the entertainer,” Kento says, smiling slightly despite himself, endeared by Kouchi’s seamless switch from righteous anger to innocent confusion. “It’s the Madonna-whore complex, this idea that women are only seen or portrayed as one of two opposing stereotypes. For some reason, the people behind this show think that I’m the – um, the first stereotype, and that Kyomoto’s the second.”

            “Ohhh. Then, I’m still right,” Kouchi concludes. “You’re supposed to be counterparts, like most of the pairs on the list.”

            “Not all of these are opposites, per se,” Kento says, slowly but steadily subscribing to Kouchi’s theory. “But, like you said, we’re supposed to play off of each other… all twelve of us. It’s even arranged so that all the pairs on here are roomed together.”

            Kouchi looks at the paper again to verify that each pair on the list was organized accordingly. “We have to tell Fuma and Hokuto about this.”

            “Why do we have to tell them?” Kento rebuts. “Hokuto might want to know, but there’s no need to drag Fuma into this.”

            “We don’t need to treat him like an outsider. There was no way he knew about any of this going into it, and he deserves to know.” Kouchi tilts his head wonderingly. “What’s wrong, do you not want him to know you’re the Madonna?”

            “That’s not it!” Kento is suspiciously quick to protest. “There’s nothing he can do with this information even if we gave it to him, that’s all!”

            Kouchi’s attempt at reassurance is clumsy with overflowing sincerity. “Don’t worry, I doubt he thinks you’re a virgin with the way you flirted with him that first night.” Kouchi makes his way out the door, wriggling away to dodge Kento’s oppressive grabbing. Before he closes the door behind him, he adds, “If you happen to be one, there’s no shame in that, either!”

            “Kouchi!” Kento absently tears at the edges of the paper as he contemplates his next move. He’s in the middle of considering eating the paper and accusing Kouchi of making up crazy stories when the other man returns, trailed by two more figures.

            “Kouchi—” Kento tries again.

            “Into the bathroom, in case they burst in here with cameras.” Kouchi nods towards the direction of the bathroom door as he leads Fuma and Hokuto in by their wrists.

            “You want all four of us to fit in—” Fuma starts, but Kouchi cuts him off, too.

            “In, go!”

            “’In, go,’” Fuma repeats mockingly but nevertheless follows him.

            The four of them shuffle inside and close the door behind them. Hokuto sits on the closed lid of the toilet, and behind him, Kento settles precariously atop the tank. Kouchi, leaning on the sink, takes the paper from him and hands it to Hokuto.

            Fuma leans over to read it as well, frowning within seconds of seeing it. Hokuto reacts much like Kouchi and Kento had, dumbfounded by the implications of what’s written. He undergoes a similar wave of denial as he asks, “What does this mean? What’s a ‘wifey’ and a ‘beta bitch’ and what does it have to do with me and Jesse?”

            “They believed Jesse was going to be a lot less nice than he actually is,” Kento says.

            “They got the main one right, in their defense,” comments Fuma, referring to the ‘alpha bitch’ written next to Ryuji’s name. The others agree without having to say anything out loud. “Before we started shooting, the producers told me that each person is hired for a reason. I had no idea this is what they meant.”

            “This is absurd,” Hokuto says. “Why wouldn’t they just bring on twelve ‘wifeys’ instead of only two, since that’s the whole premise of this show… While we’re at it, can they not come up with a better word than ‘wifey?’”

            “Twelve of those wouldn’t be enough to attract as many viewers as they need,” Fuma posits. “The show won’t be a success if it only pandered to romantics – they need to win over the crowd that tunes in for the train wrecks, too.”

            “To answer your second question, whoever wrote this went out of their way to be derogatory with these nicknames,” Kento says.

            “Yeah, that’s right. Most of us got turned into women in this list,” Hokuto observes with a bitter expression. “Wouldn’t it be the producers behind this? To think I used to trust them.”

            Kouchi frowns, walking over to the edge of the tub and using it as a backrest as he sits on the tiled floor. “I remember Tsubaki-san telling me that she thought I could be a peacemaker. That they needed somebody who would be persistent in doing what it took to keep the group sane. She was goading me into that role. Come to think of it, I bet every single conversation I’ve had with them has been about them trying to manipulate how I act.” He points to Kento. “They must have told you something, too, to try and pull your strings like we’re their little puppets.”

            “They said to be myself,” Kento says, but his voice trails off as he replays their past interactions under the light of this new revelation. “Tsubaki-san said it’s refreshing to have a man be so open about looking for romance, and that I shouldn’t be afraid to show that. …Holy shit.” He shakes his head at the minor epiphany he’s having. “I remember telling her I wasn’t very comfortable with kissing in front of an audience, and she said I didn’t have to compromise on that. She said contestants in the past were too focused on the physical aspect of the relationship and that it got them nowhere. She totally wanted me to play the prude for the cameras.”

            “Did they not know that you’d blow a kiss at anything that breathes?” Fuma interrupts Kento, making him lose his momentum. “The embarrassing disaster of it could be interpreted as virginal, but I’m guessing that’s not what they were going for.”

            Kento supposes he should be glad that Fuma at least didn’t divulge his barren relationship history to Kouchi and Hokuto, but still, he needs to retaliate. “Well-observed. Now tell me, was I more miscast than their most eligible Prince Charming?”

            “Okay, anyway, I’m sure now that the producers tried that tactic on everyone. _Everyone_ ,” Kouchi stresses. “They probably said things to Kyomoto to encourage him to be more forward, or to Juri to volunteer as resident bartender.” He stretches from where he’s sitting to check the paper, reads the words with a loud sigh. “Corrupter-Sensei.’”

            Kento winces and turns to Hokuto. “Did they try it on you?”

            “Not that I can remember,” Hokuto says unsurely. “They said they expect me to be in it for the long haul, but I thought they said that to everyone. Tsubaki-san would give me random tips.”

            “What tips?” Fuma asks, curious.

            “Like, what to wear…” Hokuto’s cheeks color at this. “I can dress myself, for the record.”

            The four of them are engrossed in their own thoughts for a moment. Most of them start to think more deeply about what these ideas of them translate to, outside of this reality TV show bubble and back in real reality. Meanwhile, Fuma briskly tones down that part of him that’s secretly susceptible to cute things, such as blushes on good-looking men.

            “I can’t be here any longer,” Kouchi says after a while. The response he gets comes in the form of three nearly identical blank faces. “I need to be the next to leave.”

            “You want to be eliminated?” Fuma asks.

            Kouchi nods. “I’m not someone who’d overstep until I break a kid.”

            “Shori’s in his 20’s,” Fuma reminds him, almost as a reflex at this point. “In any case, I sent him home before you could do anything dumb.”

            “I don’t like the idea any more than you do,” Hokuto offers, just as Kento aims a warning kick at Fuma’s shin.

            “Because all they need from you is for you to stand on a pedestal,” Kouchi replies, but cringes as soon as he the words fly out of his mouth, not having played them back in his head prior to releasing them. “Sorry, that came out wrong. Ignore that. But I am seriously asking for this, Fuma.”

            “It’s fine, you can ask.” Fuma flicks the note in Hokuto’s hand. “Regardless, this means nothing. Maybe it’s not entirely wrong, but it sure as hell isn’t right. Jesse’s not an asshole. Kyomoto didn’t actually sleep around. The producers thought this of you and the others, or at least thought they could make you live up to these tropes, but they have no power to change who we really are. At the end of the day, all they do is manufacture fictional characters with our names and our faces.”

            “Unless anyone here believes that Jesse is, in fact, a bitch coming out of this show, or that Kyomoto’s morals are any more questionable than any of ours,” Kento says.

            “Or that I’m going to be anyone’s wife after this,” Hokuto says. “Sorry to burst anyone’s bubble if they’re holding out on that.”

            Fuma continues to address Kouchi. “Even if there were a nugget of accuracy in this list, there’s clearly more to everyone than a nugget. Whether there is a side of you that’s too inquisitive or whatever, it doesn’t define you.” He conscientiously circles back to Hokuto’s earlier words so he doesn’t feel ignored. “Hokuto’s not just someone’s perfect wife.”

            There’s an expectant silence following that, so Kento ends up supplying, “’And Kento, you’re not a Madonna.’”

            “Suggestive without any plans of following through – that’s more of a shameless tease,” Fuma continues smoothly, almost as if he were expecting Kento to jump in with that statement. His lips stretch into an impish smirk.

            “What?!”

            “Dictionary definition.”

            “ _Anyway_ ,” Kouchi interrupts the beginnings of their banter for a second time. “It hardly matters at this point. It’s only three of us left, and you have way more tension with these two than with me, and everyone knows it.” He deliberately elects not to say “chemistry” lest it freaks any of them out. “Just do what you need to do, and I can escape the place where people are holding out on me playing that kind of role. They’re probably plotting a way to get me to break Hokuto or Kento as we speak, or repurpose me as the new alpha bitch or something.”

            Fuma waves his hand dismissively. “That’s probably Nakajima, if anyone.”

            “That’s probably me,” Kento agrees easily, this time.

 

\- X -

 

            They head their separate ways after their impromptu pow-wow, and Kento’s already out the door when Fuma jogs after him. “Hey, Madonna, wait up.”

            “Don’t call me that.”

            “So touchy! Here I thought Kouchi was the one who was getting worked up about it. Did he beat you to it, when he asked to get eliminated?”

            “All of a sudden my opinion matters to you?”

            His tone isn’t all the way combative, but the edge to it raises a red flag in Fuma’s head. “What, did the ‘tease’ comment piss you off that much? I thought you were following the conversation about how this labeling business is nothing short of complete bullshit.”

            Kento sighs, and he yields his defensive stance. “No, it’s not that. I wasn’t lashing out at you or anything.” He pauses, visibly searching for words. “...It’s just, I suppose it would’ve been nice to think that some of us aren’t here just to be very specific chess pieces. You know? I get that I need to calibrate my expectations, but I thought we would all at least stand a chance. I mean that for life, in general.” The undertone of bitterness doesn’t suit him in the least. “Sorry, it must sound like I’m just feeling sorry for myself.”

            Fuma can tell that he’s being intentionally vague, unforthcoming about what’s really bothering him. He opts not to pry and set him off, rather content with their precarious peace. “It sounds like quite the leap from ‘someday, it’ll be worth it.’”

            There’s a stretch of silence before Kento finally says, “I know. You’re right.” He sounds more resigned than heartened.

            “Those were your words, not mine,” Fuma reminds him. “But seriously, you won’t be driven to depression if you’re forced to stay here for one last miserable week, will you? My manager will go on a killing spree if that headline lands on her desk: ‘Kikuchi Fuma gives reality TV show contestant PTSD.’”

            “I can handle it,” Kento asserts willfully, with no trace of his earlier despondence. He has restored his outwardly self-assured aura. “I’m off work until next month, so I’d just be bored to death if you boot me now. And who knows? My future spouse might just catch me on TV during the extra week that I’m here and fall madly in love with me.”

            Fuma barely keeps himself from groaning aloud. That’d be an awful start to a relationship, even more so than meeting someone through the show. TV-Kento would likely be heavily edited at the producers’ will, missing all the nuances that Fuma’s been gradually uncovering. In the end, he can’t actually share such an opinion, so all he says is that the Nakajima Type persona has returned.

            “He powered through,” Kento says. He clears his throat before he continues. “There’s only a week left after this, so I should take this time to say what I want to say…”

            Fuma’s gut tells him he probably shouldn’t let Kento continue, but the guy has a truly bothersome way of looking vulnerable when he isn’t as carefully put together as he normally is, and it makes him damn near impossible to decline.

            “I’m sure your manager appreciates how considerate you can be, no matter how much you try to hide it. Those people deceived by your idol image would never see you thinking of your manager having to deal with headlines like that.”

            “She better appreciate it.” Fuma understands that Kento’s showing him gratitude in a way that won’t make him uncomfortable, in a way that’s easier for him to accept. The careful positioning of it makes it more gratifying than a direct “thank you” would have been. “I have something to say to you, too.”

            Kento’s eyebrows furrow. “What is it?”

            Fuma stretches his fingers out around his face as he mimics expressions on high-end fashion models. He changes positions with sharp snaps of his wrists, framing his head with his hands in varying angles. When Kento realizes he’s Voguing, he bursts into laughter and throws the crumpled note containing all the show’s distasteful nicknames at him. Neither of them move to pick it up when it lands on the floor.

            Tsubaki, Hideko, and the full fleet of make-up and costume staff come to swarm around them not long after, dragging them in separate directions to get them ready in time for the afternoon schedule.

            Fuma’s good mood is swiftly quashed even before Hideko regards him disdainfully. “I don’t suppose I can get your word on behaving well for this one.”

            “What did I do now?”

            “It’s what you don’t do,” she elaborates. “The finale’s coming soon, and we have next to nothing to show for it. You need to do a much better job of showing your interest for anyone not named Hokuto.”

            In tandem, they turn to where Hokuto is undergoing make-up rituals as Tsubaki orbits him. Fuma thinks back to that damned paper now laying on the ground, realizing that Tsubaki is likely overseeing her pet project get handled with care.

            “I talk plenty with all of them,” Fuma says. “You literally just interrupted me and Nakajima.”

            “No one cares what you do with them off-camera,” Hideko says bluntly. “But you’ve got a chance during the group date. If you can find it in you not to be so obvious about your final pick and treat them more or less equally tonight, you’d save us a lot of time.”

            “I treat them equally,” Fuma insists. If anything, he had been pulling back the most with his interactions with Hokuto more than anyone else, protecting himself from forming undue attachments.

            “It looks different from where I’m standing,” Hideko says, equally persistent in her line of thinking. “Editing will do a lot of the work for you, but for the love of God, give them something to work with. Unless you’re one of those artists that’s auto-tuned to death, you must understand the concept of pulling your weight in this production machine, yes?”

            Fuma’s heard multiple incarnations of the accusation before, but it never fails to nick at his pride. “Did Tomo-san teach you that line?”

            As much as he wants to rebel once again, the work ethic ingrained in him won’t allow for it, especially once it’s called into attention. Throughout taping for the rest of the day, he dutifully plays the part of the undecided bachelor choosing among three candidates of equivalent qualifications.

            Truth be told, he has come to like the three of them indiscriminately. But Kouchi had also been correct in saying he’d had more “tension” with Hokuto and Kento, as he found himself often forcing the appearance of acute curiosity more often when it came to Kouchi.

            It’s easy to explain why it comes more naturally with Hokuto, what with Fuma being attracted to him and not to Kouchi. Not that Fuma is oblivious to Kouchi being occasionally cute – or, say, Kento being generally pretty – but attraction has never been a function of physical appearance alone. Meanwhile, with Kento, continuous discovery of their stark differences, and how such contrasts ceased to bother him in light of their equally surprising similarities, fuel intrigue. All these contradictions evoke the innate desire to dissect such an unusual phenomenon.

            When the time comes to reprise his role as sole judge, jury, and executioner a couple of short days later, Fuma has no second thoughts on fulfilling Kouchi’s wish.

            Following Sakurai’s cue, Fuma calls Hokuto first to come and claim one of the two remaining red strings. He thought of asking Kento to step up first, in deference to Hideko’s request to keep the audience guessing, but he figures it’d be even more anticlimactic if his choice were to come down to Hokuto and Kouchi.

            After Fuma ties the second and last string around Kento’s wrist, Kouchi doesn’t pretend to be sad. He grins his disarming, childlike grin as he captures Fuma in a hug. “Good luck with everything. Don’t forget us when you’ve moved on to bigger, greater things.”

            “It’s all on tape, I have memory aids should I ever get amnesia.”

            Kouchi laughs before he runs past Fuma, hugging Kento and Hokuto in turn. “See you on the other side, when one of you is hitched to a rock star!”

            “You don’t know my band either?” Fuma demands.

 

\- X -

 

            Fuma makes a personal visit to Kouchi while he’s packing, a courtesy he had only provided to Juri and Shintaro prior to tonight. Kouchi is alone in the room, as Hokuto left to give him space and Kento is spending his allotted time in the confessional room.

            “Hey!” Kouchi says, still cheerful as he takes a pile of clothes from the closet and dumps them onto his bed. “Thanks for the ticket home. And, I didn’t get to say this before, but thanks for letting Shori go before I could help him self-destruct.”

            “I was kidding about that,” Fuma says. “There was no way that would have happened. They got all of their casting wrong, pretty much, Ryuji aside.”

            Kouchi may not be the mother hen caricature that the producers pegged him for, but he does nonetheless possess a healthy dose of curiosity. “Why did you get rid of him? I’m sure you can tell me now that I’m off the show.”

            Fuma gets a case of déjà vu, being asked for a reason that he thought should be obvious. “Uh, he was an asshole?”

            “Not Ryuji – that goes without saying! I meant Shori.”

            Fuma shrugs. “I get along with the three of you more.”

            “You didn’t even think about it when you sent him home, did you?”

            “Not really. Most of my decisions so far have been pretty easy, between you and Juri asking to be sent off. Not that every elimination was that cut and dried, but a lot of the time I just went with the flow.”

            Kouchi grins. “It had nothing to do with how annoying he and Kento were being in the living room that one time?” Again, not to be overly intrusive – he can’t be blamed for his observations.

            “If that’s what you want to believe. You had to live with them in closer quarters.” Fuma plays it off casually, but Kouchi senses a hint of defensiveness.

            “I bet you’re thinking, ‘yeah, there’s some validity in those casting notes, after all,’” Kouchi says, laughing at his own joke. “Not so harmlessly nosy now, am I?”

            “Sadly, though it’s your last night here, you have yet to change my mind about those dumbass notes,” Fuma counters. “I ended up here because of a label, too. Because of other people’s notions of me. Nakajima and Juri know this, and maybe some others, but you might not.”

            “No, I didn’t know that.”

            “It’s not something you advertise. I got into hot water for an incredibly trivial thing, basically, all because of what people think I’m like.”

            “I see. First impressions are scary, aren’t they?” Kouchi muses. “And I’m not just talking about what Hideko-san and Tsubaki-san thought of us after meeting with each of us just once. When I saw that list, to be honest, I agreed with more than one thing on it.”

            “I doubt you’re alone in that.”

            “I know. But beyond being wrong or right, we’ve all used words like that to knowingly reduce people into these simplistic, ready-to-use molds we have.”

            Fuma digests his words in silence. A moment later, he agrees. “First impressions are scary.”

            “Right?”

            “Even when some of your first impressions are right, you can still end up being so wrong about someone.”

            Kouchi nods at that, but Fuma doesn’t see it, gaze wandering thoughtfully.

            Later, the staff returns Kouchi’s phone to him. Like the other contestants, he had to surrender his personal cell phone at the beginning of the show. Once it’s back in his hands, the first person he calls is his father. The second is Jesse, of all people. He actually missed the guy, as the two of them had formed a fast friendship during the course of the show. He was sure Jesse would appreciate the hilarity of the role the producers had in mind for him.

            After Kouchi filled him in on the status of the contest, he reports their latest findings that predictably derive raucous laughter out of the show’s former fictional bad guy. Jesse recalls discussing his principled stance on honesty-above-all-else with Tsubaki, rationalizing that this might have been the reason behind his casting.

            Before hanging up, Kouchi unloads the one remaining concern he has.

            “About Kento,” he says. “I shouldn’t say anything, right? That would be meddling, for real. Even though it’s so tempting right now, while I’m still here in the house.”

            “Kento?” Jesse repeats. “What about him, do you like him?”

            “No, it’s…” Kouchi pauses. “What if I don’t say anything to Fuma, but I say something to Kento? That would be fine, right? Surely, Kento must know it?”

            “I’m not following,” Jesse says. “So, do you want him, or no?”

            “Never mind. You don’t get it, you left too early,” Kouchi reasons, ignoring Jesse’s fixation with gauging his interest in Kento. He promises to fill him in later, when they plan to meet up and share more gossip at length.

            On his own, he envisions what might happen if he were to involve himself just a tiny bit in other people’s business. When he cycles through possible reactions from Kento, the producers, Fuma, and Hokuto, the imagined repercussions make it slightly easier to relinquish his burgeoning plans for intervention. All he can do is hope that those guys can work it out themselves in the end.

 

\- X -

 

            “You’ll need to go on two dates, one with Hokuto-kun and one with Kento-kun,” Tsubaki informs Fuma.

            “Okay?” Fuma says, after a brief silence.

            Tsubaki looks momentarily confused by his acquiescence. “I was giving you space to rant like you always do.”

            “What’s there to rant about? Nobody needs prior knowledge of this show to see that coming from a mile away.”

            Tsubaki sighs. “Noted. Forgive me, you never reacted to us insulting your intelligence when we stated the obvious for you before.”

            “Hey, you can be funny. I can’t hate you for that one,” Fuma says, unironically appreciative. “If it’s up to me, I know what Nakajima and I can do.”

            Not sure if she should be pleased by his initiative or wary of getting punked, Tsubaki raises an eyebrow. “For your date with him, you mean?”

            “It popped into my head just now, literally in the last minute,” Fuma backtracks. “It’s not as if I’ve been mulling over it – we can do whatever, honestly.”

            “…What did you have in mind?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Casting notes](http://astrosaur.tumblr.com/post/160369768244/shop-around-fumaken), if you're curious!


	6. Chapter 6

            The first and only onscreen date that Fuma takes Kento on is a bit of a silly joke, a nod to the latter’s supposedly anonymous dream date from early on in the show. Kento understands as much when he’s led to the middle of a neatly mowed field, where a picnic basket is laid on top of a Doraemon blanket.

            The sun, already beginning its descent on the horizon, is visible from where they’re meant to sit. “We’re really watching the sunset…” Despite the fact that he’s essentially being made fun of, Kento seems amused by the throwback.

            “I packed sandwiches.” Fuma rummages through the basket before handing Kento a simple-looking sandwich wrapped in a paper towel.

            “You packed this?”

            “Relax, I didn’t poison it.”

            Kento takes a bite of his sandwich, oddly slow and quiet in his movements, like he’s having tea with the Queen of England. Fuma shrugs off his strange behavior and uses the moment of calm to appreciate his sandwich. There hadn’t been much in the pantry or the refrigerator, but he made do with eggs and exactly one piece of lettuce for each of them. It’s not exactly mind-blowing, but Fuma likes it well enough.

            Kento breaks the silence with a soft, “This actually makes me want to go back to work.”

            “Teacher, right?”

            He nods. “Music teacher, but we all lend a hand packing lunches for field trips.”

            Fuma sits up straighter at that. “I didn’t know you teach music.”

            Kento raises his eyebrows, suspicion written all over his features. “Are you voluntarily engaging in small talk?”

            “You never mentioned the music part,” Fuma says, like that makes all the difference. “What do you teach them?”

            “I’m only trusted with the younger kids, so it’s mostly reading notes and singing songs while I play the piano.”

            “Piano, huh?” Neither of them know what to make of Fuma’s specific interest in that tidbit. “I liked music when I was in school.”

            “I’m sure you did.” Kento grins. “Kids naturally like the class since they get to sing together. I lucked out there. I don’t have siblings – younger or older – so I didn’t have a lot of experience to draw on in interacting with them. I never knew they could be really sweet at that age.”

            Fuma imagines a bunch of adoring kids flocking towards Kento, and the mental image is too cute for safety. He’s always been weak to kids, so it comes as no surprise, but he’s able to recover smoothly with a lighthearted jab. “Makes sense that you don’t have siblings. You’ve got the worst case of only child syndrome I’ve ever seen.”

            “What about you? I bet you’re a middle child.”

            “Eldest, actually. I’ve got a brother and a sister, both much younger than me.”

            Kento rolls his eyes. “Of course you do. That’s unfair, that’s automatically cute.”

            Fuma isn’t sure what that means, but he finds the opportunity to gloat. “The Kikuchi clan really is cute. My parents saw how I turned out, so they were motivated to keep passing along their genes. Meanwhile, you’re an only child…”

            Kento makes a face at him. “If I were you, I’d watch what to say to me. If my students catch this show and see how I’m being maltreated, they will go after you and your band. It’d be a shame if pre-teens were a part of your core demographic.”

            “Huh. It’s just my luck you’re the one that comes with his own mini-army.”

            “Somehow I don’t feel too sorry for you. What about Hokuto? What does he do again?”

            Fuma racks his brain for an answer. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have minions like you do.”

            “You’re ‘pretty sure?’” Kento repeats, unimpressed. “You know, that cool guy attitude is only going to get you so far.” Fuma is about to point the obvious about the difference between Hokuto and Kento, but Kento beats him to it. “I know Hokuto maybe isn’t as much into romantic overtures as I am, but he’s human. He needs to know that what he does matters to you.”

            Fuma pointedly changes the topic. “There’re fruits in here, too.”

            “Hmm?” Kento knows that Fuma is shutting down his unwarranted lecture, but he relents all the same, not one to turn down more food. “Nice!” His face lights up as he grabs a bunch of bananas and places them on his lap.

            “And here we have the only child’s concept of sharing.”

            “I won’t eat them all,” Kento says, though he doesn’t make a move to return any of them, too busy peeling one open. “I love bananas, they’re my favorite.”

            Fuma forgets to make the easy innuendo as he’s soon mesmerized by the movement of Kento’s lips over and around his treasured banana. He’d almost swear that Kento’s doing it on purpose, if only he didn’t look so cheerful overdosing on potassium.

            “Anyway, let me pay you back for your advice from that night, alright? All I’m saying is, it won’t hurt to show that you want to know more about him, too. I’m sure he asks you all about what your job’s like, right? And if you were to show just as much interest in his life, like whatever he does, it’s fascinating to you because it’s him… That’ll capture anyone’s heart, for sure.”

            Kento’s wistful, rambling words are slow to take form in Fuma’s head, as Fuma fails to tear his eyes away from the vicinity of the other man’s mouth. It’s only when Tsubaki’s voice blares from across the field that his attention is pried away from where it’s been fixated in the last few minutes.

            “CUT!” Tsubaki cries out. “Cut, cut, cut, cut, cut!”

            Fuma’s brows furrow as she jogs up to them. “Producer, script writer, and now director?”

            She ignores him. “Just, please, Kento-kun, you were doing so well until you started coaching him through a dating strategy for someone else. We need you to talk and act like a viable candidate, as much as possible. Could you do that for us?”

            When she returns to where Hideko is, she mutteringly complains, “Honestly, we got enough of this with Juri. Next time we should just do a show with eleven guys blatantly matchmaking the other two.”

            Hideko dismisses her concerns. “We can always stretch out Fuma gaping at Kento fellating fruits.”

            “Thank god for men’s brains and their permanent position in the gutter.”

            Back in the middle of the field, Kento whispers to Fuma that they definitely don’t need him to be the Madonna anymore. He has visibly deflated, and Fuma chalks it up to him being unaccustomed to criticism regarding meeting his obligations. It’d be a shame if he never had anyone in his life to provide a counterpoint to that impeccable workman’s obedience.

            Before he can think through what his invitation sounds like, Fuma asks, “Wanna give ‘em a show?”

            Kento’s frown turns into one of confusion. “What? Why?”

            “Why not? Take them down a notch and throw it in their faces that they botched up their idiotic profiling.”

            “The mic isn’t picking anything up,” one of the sound engineers calls out to them.

            “You haven’t fed me anything yet,” Fuma pipes up with new purpose, louder and almost directly into the mic booms. “I thought that was a part of your dream date proposal.”

            Kento glances unsurely at the untouched banana. A beat later, he’s looking up at Fuma, a hint of mischief in his eyes as he tells him to open his mouth.

            Kento peels it and holds it up to Fuma’s face in a way that the latter is now sure is intentionally suggestive. With uncanny timing, Fuma’s body decides to be clumsy right in that moment, knocking the fruit onto the ground and sending it to the floor. Kento mumbles an apology, but Fuma cuts him off.

            “You’re fine, there’s more,” he says. He plucks a large Tupperware container and pries it open, brandishing their bounty. “Which one do you want?”

            Kento pours over his choices and murmurs, “Strawberry.”

            Fuma picks up the brightest one in the pile and places it right on the edge of Kento’s mouth, full attention on the way the small red fruit slips past the other’s lips. He allows a second or two for Kento to chew, but he’s unable to hold back much longer than that before following that strawberry with his tongue.

            Kento makes a surprised sound, only presenting more opportunity for Fuma to lick his way inside, chasing hints of the tart sweetness. It doesn’t take very long to coax Kento into kissing him back, hands moving surely to grip Fuma’s waist.

            Ignited by the response, Fuma places one hand on the side of Kento’s neck, thumb tracing his jawline, keeping him close as he carefully guides the other man onto his back. He continues to deepen their kiss as he moves to straddle Kento, hovering over him like he means to cover him completely.

            The way Kento nibbles and sucks his bottom lip, and the way he gasps brokenly when Fuma returns the favor, has Fuma’s blood running hotter than lava. The desperate breaths he takes between the demanding slide of their lips are stupidly hot, tiny sounds that make it seem like it’s already too much for him to bear. Kento just feels sinfully good against him, and Fuma doesn’t realize he’s taken to grinding down into the cradle of the other’s hips until he feels him rutting up instinctively in return.

            “Shit.” Fuma scrambles to sit up, but not before his body moves of its own accord to steal one last kiss from Kento’s still pursed, spit-slick lips. He wills his rebellious body to behave as he hastily explains, “Sunset.” He prays for the Earth open up and swallow him whole then and there when he finds his voice refusing to stay steady in the span of one word.

            “Sunset?” Kento repeats, equally hoarse.

            Fuma helps him up, telling him not to knock any glasses over. Kento looks behind his shoulder to check that he doesn’t, too disoriented to notice that there aren’t any breakables anywhere near him.

            Neither one is in the proper mindset to observe the sunset when it does come, never mind appreciate it. Fortunately for the show’s producers, the scene paints the perfect clichéd silhouette of two people sharing a tranquil moment, betraying nothing of the turbulent thoughts they’re contending with.

 

\- X -

 

            Fuma is neck-deep in the fresh memory of having someone gasping into his mouth when an accusatory voice disturbs his deliberation.

            “I leave you alone for a week, and you get a change of heart.”

            Fuma turns to the source of the indictment, wearing a pronounced frown. “You have a problem with it now? You didn’t care with Kyomoto or Hokuto.”

            “No, no, I don’t have a problem with your nationally televised make-out sessions. No sarcasm intended, for once. Your fans should expect you to be doing that sort of thing on this show,” Tomo says. “I was talking about how you decided to make a contest out of this just in time for the finale. FYI, the agency took bets on who you’d pick, and by my estimation, an underdog story would make around three people very happy. But, it’d also make another thirty or so want to tear you a new one. Granted, the viewing public is about three or four episodes behind from watching you warm up to Kento and subsequently dry-hump him, so the odds might change by next month.”

            Fuma feels his ears burn. “No wonder you’re invested in who wins the show all of a sudden – you have money riding on this.”

            “Nothing of that sort. I wasn’t allowed to join the bet due to conflict of interest.” In her regretful expression, Tomo makes no secret of how she would’ve joined, had she been permitted. “And before you ask, I’m not at liberty to say if your bandmates participated.”

            Fuma snorts. “I don’t need to ask, I know they instigated the whole thing.”

            Tomo remains stone-faced. “That information is also classified.”

            “Sure it is. Anyway, whoever the three people who have money on Nakajima are, tell them to get smarter about their savings. It’s not happening.” Fuma is certain of this, despite his own mental state right before Tomo walked in. “Contrary to popular belief, it’s not my job to create shock value.”

            “Would it be much of a shock after what happened?” Tomo points out. “It got really… heated, back there. And you know, I didn’t see it at first, but he has a gap. You’re drawn to gaps.”

            Fuma shudders, running his hands up and down his arms as if to smoothen the goosebumps that emerged on his skin. “Ugh, don’t talk as if you know me so well. It makes my skin crawl.”

            “Oh for crying out loud, it’s not a huge leap to make. He’s got a bit of a sexy image, but he’s also got this pure-of-heart vibe about him…”

            Fuma cocks an eyebrow at her. “Do you want to fuck him? Is that it? He’s totally super mega gay, so I guess it can’t be helped if you want to live vicariously through me.”

            Tomo sighs. “Before this, I was sure you’d pick Hokuto, that’s all. Forgive my curiosity. It’s the same with 90% of our agency – not to mention the audience, if online polls are to be believed – who’re convinced you had heart-eyes on Hokuto from the start.”

            “You are seriously too invested in this, and not in the way you ought to be,” Fuma informs her. “I hope you remember why you made me do this in the first place. It sure as hell wasn’t to set me up with a bunch of random guys that got through a casting call.”

            “I wish I could forget why I had to put you through this,” Tomo throws back. “Never mind that you actually ended up liking Hokuto _and_ Kento.”

            Against expectations, Fuma doesn’t deny liking either of them. She figures that the word is passably vague to suit his tastes.

            “You know this better than me, but to these guys, this show isn’t about saving your career,” Tomo says. She pats Fuma lightly on the back, before getting up to leave him alone and let him contemplate her next words. “No one said that that’s all the show should be about for you, either.”

 

\- X -

 

            The show’s final scene gathers all the past contestants back into the house’s lavish garden. Fuma is momentarily distracted when the sight of familiar faces brings about an unexpected wave of nostalgia, even though his time with many of them had been short.

            The garden is adorned with a metal trellis strewn with flowers, lit with mason jar lamps hanging from looping wires straight out of a hipster fantasy wedding. It’s more cinematic than any set Fuma’s worked with before, and that does nothing for the nerves that are immune to every relaxation technique he’d attempted from the moment he woke up that morning.

            When the camera starts rolling, the scene starts with fakely ceremonial proceedings. Fuma stands at one end of the garden with Sakurai, as Hokuto and Kento are directed to walk towards him. Hokuto holds himself in an upright posture that belies the uncertainty lurking in his eyes. Beside him, Kento strides with trademark grace, but his head hangs subtly. When he looks up, he only manages a second-long glance split between Fuma and the past contestants, before he fixes an unseeing stare at Sakurai’s bowtie.

            That fleeting look strikes Fuma with a frantic wish to have a pause button. An inner voice chews him out for not taking a break from stewing in his troubles to seek Kento out before this moment, before all these cameras were trained on them to capture their every move. He could do with just fifteen minutes of his life back, time he can use to pull the other man aside and talk through what’s about to happen.

            There was never any doubt about what he must do. To pull a 180 now and not pick Hokuto like everyone expects – including Kento, evidently – would only hurt Hokuto, on top of going against his very purpose for coming to the show. Tomo all but let him know what picking the show’s dark horse would look like to those relatively close to the situation, and it could only look worse to someone who’s only watching it on TV, thereby undoing any positive progress they’d made towards repairing his reputation with the fans. After all, the fans hadn’t been privy to his innermost thoughts as he consciously kept Hokuto at arm’s length. And the fans never witnessed him carelessly letting his guard down around Kento time and again.

            When Kento and Hokuto come to a stop at an equidistant point from Fuma, Sakurai enters into his spiel. “The moment has come. You have a difficult decision ahead of you, but there can only be one person that your string connects to.” He holds up the loose end of the red string that’s bound to Fuma’s little finger, and offers it to Fuma with predictable theatrics. “It’s time to connect it to that person.”

            Fuma clears his throat and bumbles forward with a speech he belatedly wishes he composed and practiced beforehand. Just one more thing he should have done in place of his useless agonizing. “Last night, I thought a lot about my experience here. I’m fortunate to be here and to have met all twelve of you. I had to spend time away from the studio, and to be honest, that didn’t sit well with me. It’s the longest break I’ve ever had to take from my job. But being here and spending at least a little time with each of you has made this an unforgettable experience.”

            He faces the two standing closest to him, focusing first on the man who won’t look him in the eye. “Nakajima. It was rough at the start, wasn’t it? But as it turns out, you’re not as insufferable as you first come off. I came to understand you a bit more, and the parts that hold strength, and childishness, and kindness. When I was with that person I got to know, there was never a moment I couldn’t be myself.”

            He has to stop there, as the wheels in his head come to a screeching halt and everything goes quiet. Or maybe it’s gotten louder, as the warring jumble of thoughts is displaced by an ultrasonic noise that lifts a fog in his mind, revealing what he really wishes he could express.

            He’s not sure how long he stands there motionless, or if anybody tried to snap him out of his abrupt trance, but he comes to at his own pace. He soldiers on, willing himself to pretend like nothing significant happened. “You were right about that, in the end. I’m glad – I’m really glad – I had the chance to find that out.”

            Kento doesn’t so much as glance his way at any point. All Fuma can do is regulate his breathing, aggravation mounting at how he managed to hold off until this very second to admit his feelings to himself.

            “Hokuto, with you, it was completely different.” Fuma faces Hokuto, exerting unprecedented effort to appear composed. He hopes it passes for a semblance of authenticity as he speaks mostly on autopilot, too panic-stricken to activate more complex mental facilities. “I gravitated towards you instantly, because of how you carried yourself. After that, I got to know you, and you showed the softness that isn’t immediately obvious. When people watch this, some will think you’re cool and sharp. But the image of you that’s most distinct to me now is the side of you that’s a little silly, and a lot kind.” Hokuto offers him a nervous smile before he fidgets with his collar.

            “Like I said,” Fuma starts. The words he means to say get stuck in his throat, as if blocked by the arrival of recently acknowledged truths. What he would give for that pause button now, for even just one more minute to collect himself and come up with a plan that won’t sabotage too many things that matter into smithereens. The pause he takes is even longer this time, uninterrupted for want of broadcast suspense. He thinks his vision is clouding at the edges and he can’t see any other choice on the horizon, and he forces the words out like a sob. “It’s been Hokuto from the beginning.”

            Sakurai looks back and forth between them, unsure if he’s supposed to act on that cue, and eventually ushers Hokuto to step forward. The former contestants contribute scattered claps, each one wondering if Fuma had anything else to say to crystallize his choice. When Fuma silently moves to tie the string around Hokuto’s finger, the applause crescendos, making up for the stuttering start. From where he’s standing, Kento joins the crowd in congratulating them, and it pains Fuma to see the self-conscious smile stretched over his face.

            In contrast, Hokuto’s smile is beautiful, warmer and sweeter than usual. He leans closer, close enough for a kiss, one that Fuma is certain he can’t give with Kento standing right there. He ends up sidestepping to give Hokuto a chaste peck on the cheek.

            In a final act of treachery, Hideko cuts in with directives. “Don’t get shy now, guys.”

            Hokuto shakes his head at her pushiness, but appears acquiescent. Squaring his shoulders, Fuma pitches forward and presses their lips together.

            He’s not surprised that the butterflies from before fail to make a reappearance. Granted, they’d be hard to come by with the perfunctory way Fuma places his lips on Hokuto’s, rivaling the awkwardness of the kissing scenes he’d had early in his career. But there is no denying that it’s the looming regret that’s responsible for overpowering any other emotion he might otherwise be capable of.

            No matter how nice or pleasant those butterflies had been when he and Hokuto had first kissed, they could hardly compare to the feeling that he can now identify of being bowled over with the weight of his affection, the intense yearning that was not confined to a physical need. Now, all he’s left with is the ache of coming to terms with what he’d done. He’ll have to live with throwing away something that had grown to the point that it could no longer hide under the surface, something so substantial and yet so fragile.

            He’s accosted by a blur of grins and congratulatory pats on the back as he reckons with his decision. Other images seep into his vision, of crew members raising their thumbs in the air, yelling out overlapping cheers and jargon.

            The person closest to him, arms wound loosely around his waist, whispers, “Are you okay?”

            Fuma has a ready answer for that, but he withholds it. He stops himself from looking for a specific set of eyes in the crowd over Hokuto’s shoulder as he tries to answer the question posed to him. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

            Hokuto struggles to find a response to that. For his part, Fuma can’t come up with anything beyond what he’d already said. “I never wanted you to get hurt.”

            Hokuto slowly disentangles himself from Fuma. “What did you want?”

            “I really didn’t want to choose one over the other like that in front of everyone.” Fuma lets out a defeated sigh as he gives in to the urge to seek out the one he didn’t choose.

            Hokuto catches his eyes wandering, and draws the only available conclusion. “Why did you choose me?” When he doesn’t receive an answer, he echoes Fuma’s groan, as the crowd around them disperses to allow them a few centimeters of space. “You shouldn’t have chosen me. Fuma, you shouldn’t have chosen me – or _said_ you chose me – if every other part of you chose someone else! …God, I sounded like him just then, didn’t I?”

            An unsteady smile forces itself onto Fuma’s face. “A little bit.”

            It’s Hokuto’s turn to look around, but like Fuma, he fails to find Kento in the chaotic din. “But I’m not him.”

            Fuma flinches at the matter-of-fact tone and the pinpoint accuracy. “I think you and I can be good friends.”

            “Are you really asking me to promise you that right now?”

            “No, you’re right,” Fuma admits, chastised. “I’m…”

            “Just go,” Hokuto cuts him off.

            “I need to—”

            “I said go!” Hokuto grabs Fuma’s arm, shoving him aimlessly, presumably in Kento’s direction. “Get _something_ right today,” Hokuto says under his breath as Fuma shakily gathers his bearings and starts to walk away.

 

\- X -

 

            Fuma spots Sou and Marius stationed in front of the closed door to one of the house’s bedrooms, looking like the world’s least intimidating bodyguards. Sou informs Fuma that a bunch of them are going out to dinner together, and they’re waiting for Kento, who asked for privacy to change into more comfortable clothes.

            “I need to steal him for a second,” Fuma tells them. “If you want to go ahead, I’ll tell him to follow you.”

            Sou and Marius exchange worried glances. “It’s okay,” Sou says, eventually. “Can you tell him we’ll wait for him in the living room?”

            “You got it.” Fuma only lets them take one more step before he calls out to them. “Hey. It’s good to see you two.”

            Marius breaks his own silence with a soft, and honest, “It’s good to see you, too, Fuma-kun.”

            Fuma waits until the two are out of hearing distance before he knocks on the door. “It’s me. You better be nake— _not_! You better _not_ be naked in there.” He spares a second to mentally curse Freud and his damnable slips.

            There’s no reply, but he hears scrambling on the other end, and he can practically see Kento diving towards the door to prevent anyone from coming in. Fuma turns the knob to make sure Kento hasn’t locked the door, and that he won’t be able to.

            He feels an opposite force slam into the door, and gathers that Kento’s now trying to bodily barricade it. He makes a snap decision to shove the door open, wedging himself through as soon as it gives way, and brings one hand up over his eyes. “Are you decent?” he asks. His fingers separate slightly when all he hears is angry panting, and when he sees Kento’s fully dressed state, he lets his hand fall back to his side.

            “What are you doing here?” Kento adopts the ramrod straight posture of a marching military cadet, but he remains unable to look directly at Fuma.

            Fuma’s resolve slips, and he stalls as he works to build it up again. “Matsushima said you’d be in here changing. They’re waiting for you. You should tell them if you’re backing out.”

            “I’m going. I can’t bring myself to pack or to move right this second, but I’ll get to it.” Kento glares petulantly at the clothes he’d left hanging in the closet. He huffs out a self-deprecating laugh, and Fuma strains to hear what he says next. “Turns out I’m an idiot after all.”

            It takes more than a second for Fuma to let the comment sink in – to accept accountability for causing that dejection, but also letting it sprinkle a seed of hope buried deep inside him. “Those stories you like would never start with one person watching the other one date everyone else, huh? For that matter, they wouldn’t start with one guy saying that he’s after whoever he can have as a rebound.”

            “Are you talking about what I said on the rooftop?” Kento shakes his head and reroutes the conversation. “Who cares about that? You don’t, you like Hokuto.” He gasps it out, like it hurts to say. “And he likes you back.”

            “I do like him, in a way,” Fuma says. He immediately regrets his flippant honesty when he sees the Kento’s anguished expression. “But this is where I am right now. Doesn’t that tell you what you need to know?”

            “I already knew what I needed to know. You chose him like you’ve wanted to do since day one. And fine, I’m the one working myself up in a tizzy over here, like I didn’t know this was going to happen. Like I had a real chance because of one date – designed to have a laugh at my expense, no less – where you kissed me until I lost all rational thought. Literally, I must have lost it, because I let myself get hurt over nothing but the inevitable.”

            Fuma can hardly stand straight with the way his entire body is ostensibly trying to constrict right into the center of his chest, but he keeps a neutral face as he laments, “You wouldn’t be you unless you make me say it out loud.”

            “Why are you making that face?” Kento spits out. “That ‘why me?’ face. I’m not making you do anything, you’re the one barging in here unnecessarily.”

            “That I didn’t choose you out of twelve people, that was my mistake, alright?!” His voice automatically adopts an edge in response to Kento’s, but he catches it and takes a calming breath. “You can go ahead and be pissed off about that.” He inhales another equally essential lungful of air, this time to help him power through the rest of his words. “The truth is, it would be my mistake if I didn’t choose you out of any number of people.” The pain of having to say something so corny is so tremendous that he swears he can physically feel it, regardless of the undeniable truth behind it.

            “You can’t say things like that.” Kento’s face heats up with something other than anger, but he mostly sounds upset. “What are you playing at?”

            “What else do you need to hear?” Fuma exclaims, again losing his cool. “You’re a stubborn piece of work, you know that?”

            “You like Hokuto. You just said as much, and you—”

            “I like you.” Fuma’s not as good as putting those words together – the words Kento craves so much that he’s mastered them – but he at least knows the basics. He takes Kento’s stiffened hands in his own shaking ones. “Much more than I thought I would.”

            Fuma slowly leans in, giving Kento time to push him away. He doesn’t get shoved off, but Kento turns his face to the side, avoiding him. “More than Hokuto?”

            Fuma’s a little irritated that Kento is not only rebuffing his advances, he’s also throwing his blunders in his face after he already acknowledged them. “I’m not saying that.” He doesn’t let Kento break out of his grip when he makes a violent attempt to do so. “Not until I’ve convinced you some other way.”

            “What way?” Kento stops attempting to wriggle away and concentrates on glaring him down. “This matters, Fuma, you can’t just kiss me and magically render us ignorant about your feelings for someone else!”

            “I don’t know what it is yet, but I’ll find it,” Fuma asserts. “All I know is it’s going to take more than saying so to convince you that there’s no room for real feelings for anyone else.”

            Kento’s look softens in spite of his sustained misgivings. “You’re too perceptive. Celebrities are supposed to be airheads.”

            Fuma’s lips quirk at that. “Can’t help it if I’m a genius on top of everything else.” His eyes drift as he deals with another rising wave of embarrassment. He stretches his neck to place his lips against Kento’s temple, letting them brush over the other man’s too-hot skin as he speaks. “I rejected you with all of Japan watching. I’ll take responsibility for that.”

            “Liar.” When Fuma leans back to look at him, he’s welcomed by the gratifying sight of Kento’s unforced smile forming slowly. “You are a Nakajima Type.”

            “I am _not_. Make no mistake, I did not enjoy saying any of that. But I’ll endure it.” It sounds stupid to his own ears, but he pushes onward. “I’ll express the most disgusting thought I have, even if I pull a muscle doing it. There are worse things I’d do, so long as their meaning reaches you.”

            Kento stares at him, oddly quiet.

            Fuma is confronted with an unfamiliar level of self-consciousness. “Did that sound like a lame line, even to you?”

            “You’re right, it’s really embarrassing on this end of it.”

            Fuma laughs in relief, proud and elated to have elicited the out-of-breath response. “You like it, though.” He repurposes Kento’s words from one of their late-night chats. “Careful, you’ll fall for me for good.”

            “It’s too late. But it’s fine if you’re there to catch me.”

            Fuma chooses not to ruin the moment with a snarky comment, and when Kento unknowingly rewards him for it by sealing their lips together, he’s filled with an increasingly familiar giddy rush, and he knows he’s chosen well.

           

           

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psst - there will be an epilogue (because this story is not yet done)! It won't come very soon because other-project-stuff-and-life-things, but it'll happen some day.


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